


feeling whitney || red dead redemption 2

by dxntdxdrxgs



Category: Red Dead Redemption, Red Dead Redemption II
Genre: Abuse, Anger, Angst, Childhood sexual assault, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Period Typical Homophobia, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, gunslinging babey, its not super sad, levi is just sensitive, period typical racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dxntdxdrxgs/pseuds/dxntdxdrxgs
Summary: Levi Easton is a gang rat turned doctor, a man of many talents and many secrets as well. He’s rescued at the age of nineteen by a stubborn and strong woman named Beth Maverick, who’s got more than her fair share of connections. One thing leads to another, or more accurately, leads to the Van der Linde gang.Levi is confused by his heart, what he wants, and more specifically who. Men who love other men are hanged, beaten, brutalized, and damned in their society, so why does he find himself so unabashedly attracted to his tent-mate and another rowdy cowboy. Surely loving one man would be damn him enough, but two?Levi feels like he’s in over his head.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is so self servicing i’ve had this yeehaw man oc for so long and let’s be real arthur would totally have a soft spot for a damaged, blonde, pretty boy

He hit the ground and rolled, all the loose gravel cutting into his back and his shoulders like knives. Everything ached and he started to wonder just what was broken (something was) and how badly. His ribs were beating him with a deep stabbing pain so he guessed one might be, at the very least, cracked. Either way, it fucking hurt. 

“Again? Levi Easton you will be the death of me, I swear it!” 

Beth Maverick was a woman if ever there was one. Her eyes could level any man and her body could have them melting in her hand within seconds. She had dark, smooth skin and hazel eyes that complemented her reddish hair. If Levi kept the company of women he’d have been all over her. In fact, that’s when he noticed something was up. When men met him in each town they picked through, they asked why he hadn’t snatched her up yet. His answer was always, “Is she that pretty?”

Really, he knew she was, but he just didn’t get it. Until he saw this guy, and he had a night with that guy, and holy shit everything made sense. And Beth? She was so understanding, sighing wistfully at the group of dolled up women who’d passed them and saying, “I got it bad for both.” 

But now, here she was, glowering over the edge of a porch in all her fury, peeking back to survey the angry bartender and broken saloon window. Her gaze softened a minuscule amount when she saw the blood on Levi’s cheek, and he reveled in that, seeing as she was basically the only mother figure he’d ever had. See, he was 29, verging on 30 now, whereas Beth was already 35. She mothered him to no end sometimes, and other men just assumed she was a doting wife, but it wasn’t like that at all. 

“I’m okay,” he managed hoarsely, eyes flicking to scan the numerous faces casting glares his way. All he’d done was punch a guy, and really, he fucking deserved it. Groping the waitresses like that, putting his greasy little hands all over her dress like he owned her. Well, turns out the guy had a couple friends behind the bar. Shit hurt. “Just, uh... Ribs.” 

Beth hopped off the porch gracefully and hoisted the mess she called her protege off the ground, shoving him toward his horse. “Don’t you strain yourself, hear me? We’re makin’ for Valentine tonight. We’ll go up through Horseshoe Overlook.” 

“Right on,” he grunted, leaning most of his weight through his hand and onto his saddle horn, which made Beau quarrel softly, the damn horse. As much as he was defiant, you couldn’t pay Levi to get rid of him. “You think we’ll make it? My chest ain’t feelin too hot and I think I reopened my scar.” 

Beth worried her lip and looked over, leaning up to catch Levi’s face in the sun. Sure enough, she saw it. See, Levi was young. Young and stupid, and very damaged for his age. Or so Beth said, but he argued that every man his age had some ailment. His slender figure complemented his soft face and jawline. He had bright, sun-kissed blonde hair and a single bright blue eye. The other was dull and cloudy from his injury, a deep scar slicing his brow in half and ending just above the corner of his mouth. 

He always told Beth the pain wasn’t too bad, but suddenly having your vision literally cut in half was. It was disorienting to not see his whole left side most of the time, but he learned to cope quickly, seeing as he had no other choice. Levi had a soft spot for people still yet, always had and always would, and that worried Beth. It made her want to move him as far East as possible, in with civilized folk who knew what was what. Yet here they were, the furthest East they’d ever been together. 

Beth found Levi when he was 19 and they’d traveled and swindled together ever since. He was always clean shaven, except for his hair which stayed braided and brushed his lower back, near his tailbone. It was quite literally his pride and joy, and Beth would also be damned if Levi wasn’t the smartest boy she’d ever seen. He stole so many medical textbooks, studied herbs and flowers, learned anatomy. He prolonged a child with TB’s life, saved a mother during childbirth, and had even restarted a man’s heart. 

Of course, there were the failures too. 

He failed to give the same help to an elderly man with TB using the same treatment, a baby he delivered died before he could cut the umbilical cord, and he lost a man to a heart attack. It was sad, he’d told Beth, but it was life. She knew it bothered him, even though they drifted from place to place, he remembered every name and face he failed to help. She told him it wasn’t healthy and he told her to shove it. 

-.-.-.-.-

He had counted 19 drips of blood from his slowly clotting face wound by the time they made it to Valentine. The hotel was clean and cozy and Beth shared the bath room with him and cleaned his face and scratched up back. 

“You’ve far too many scars for a young man, Levi,” she sighed, guiding a thumb over a particularly deep gash on his shoulder. It had been a gunshot wound, infected and almost deadly. The area was hard and thick with scar tissue now, a dip noticeable in the flesh. 

“Ain’t got enough, B,” he smiled lazily, leaning back. There was nothing odd about their position, especially not to them, and when a woman knocked asking if Levi needed help and he accepted, Beth laughed her ass off as his whole body flushed. He hadn’t realized how “helpful” she wanted to be. 

They’d stumbled out after that, Levi’s eyes wide. “D’you see that? Did you? She slid that hand right down my thigh and— Awh, Jesus, Beth, quit laughing!” He knew his face couldn’t get any redder, he was already burning hotter than the sun. 

“Well, now, down to business,” Beth yawned, stretching as they got to their room. “There’s a couple reasons we’re in Valentine tonight.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Reason one, I gotta meet an old friend. Guy named Dutch van der Linde. But don’t you breathe that to anyone else, Levi Easton, I’ll kill you. He’s a real wanted guy.” 

“Ain’t gotta worry about me, Beth, where we meeting him?” 

“The saloon, he should be here by now,” she muttered, peeking behind the sheer curtains and out the window. She huffed lightly. “Men and their drinks.” 

Levi rolled his eyes and caught his belt and holster as she threw them to him, sliding it easily around his waist. “Lead the way, miss,” he mocked, getting a smack to his sore side, which he’d determined wasn’t broken, just bruised. He prayed it would sort itself out soon. 

The walk across the street was nice; the air was cool and the stars were out. Levi looked straight up and sighed happily, regretting doing so the second he slammed into the solid form of another man. He fell back immediately, opening his mouth to apologize and finding the words absolutely sapped from him. 

The man above him wasn’t a model, not by any means, but he seemed to strike a chord right in Levi’s heart. He was scruffy and unkempt, a wild look in his tired eyes. He was a head taller than Levi, too, that much he could tell from the ground. He could also murder Levi, which is kinda what he looked like he wanted to do. Levi, however, wanted to grab him by that black neck scarf and drag him straight to his bed. 

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he choked out, trying to hide his interest and fear and failing miserably. 

“Get up, kid,” the man bit back bitterly, making Levi’s skin crawl in an odd way. And kid? He wasn’t—

“Levi!” Beth snatched him up by his collar and the man’s face changed immediately. 

“Well! Ms. Maverick, I didn’t know you two were... involved,” he glanced over Levi, who was having a hard time standing still at this point. 

“We aren’t,” he snorted, earning a smack on the back of the head. 

“He’s right, he’s more my fucking ward,” she grunted, heading off into the saloon. 

“Beth! I’m—“ Levi sighed and didn’t even bother finishing. The man laughed and clapped him on the back, almost knocking him over. 

“Women are confusing, but you get used to them after a while,” the man winked, “the name’s Arthur Morgan. Reckon your trustworthy if Ms. Maverick has found a partnership in you.” 

“Likewise,” Levi murmured, face flushing as Arthur clasped their hands together in a handshake. “Uh, I’m, shit— Uh! I’m... Levi Easton, my name, that’s... it.” 

The older man watched Levi carefully for a moment before departing for the bar inside, and Levi could do nothing but follow like a lost puppy. Arthur glanced over his shoulder and snickered. “Hate to be nosy, but d’you mind sharin’ why you’re a one-eyed-wonder?” 

Levi blanched, “it’s a long story for closer friends, sir.” 

“Call me Arthur,” he muttered, face hardening as sever drunken men called his name. “Seeing as we’ll be working together.” 

Levi didn’t get the chance to ask what that meant before he spotted Beth again, sitting in a corner booth with an older, dark haired man. He walked over when she motioned for him, nodding politely and shaking the man— Dutch’s —hand. 

“Well, you must be the pain in her ass Beth is always griping about!” he joked, clapping Levi on the same shoulder Arthur had. “Relax, kid.” 

“I’m, well, you see I’m almost thirty—“ 

“Thirty, well!” Dutch admonished, “you’re right elderly!” 

Again, Levi felt embarrassed and realized he was so out of his element. Innocent and small town, despite the line of work he was in. He’d never shot a man, and the creases in Dutch’s face spoke of harrowing battles, the same as Arthur’s. He wondered if people thought Levi was hardened just because of his face, too. 

Self conscious, he turned his head to the side and caught sight of Arthur laughing and throwing back shots with two men. He felt his gut turning at the new information assaulting his brain. He excused himself from his current conversation, feeling the sweat drip into his back and burn a deep and aching feeling. 

“What you lookin’ at, boy?”

Fuck. 

“Nothing, sir,” Levi struggled out, realizing that he’d accidentally stared a hole in a rather large, reactive drunk man. Apparently, his answer didn’t suffice, either, as the man stood and towered over him, slurring a drunken fury. And when a fist got swung toward him, Levi slammed one back into the man’s jaw as hard as he could. 

The bastard broke a goddamn table and landed on the ground with a groan, out cold. A few wolf whistles sounded, and Levi booked it back to the hotel. That was enough for one day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi begins to get a feel for the Van der Linde gang and bonds (sort of) with Arthur in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this chapter is cute imo tell me what y’all think!!

Hung upside down from a tree wasn’t how he wanted to start the morning. Beth had been out all night, presumably back to Dutch’s bed, and that left Levi to wonder how the ever-loving- fuck someone drugged and strung him up in this branch. His face was hot and his head pounded, not to mention his teeth which felt like fuzzy balls of energy for some reason. It was a blood rush, and he just thanked god he hadn’t been here too long. 

“Teach... Teach your pansy ass to stare a—again!”

The drunken, and still drunken, bastard from last night was smugly glaring up at Levi who, actually, commended the guy. His liver was currently decomposing as they spoke and he still managed to get Levi up in this tree. “Sure showed me.” 

 

“Is that—“ he hiccuped, “is that sass?” 

Levi shuddered and struggled a bit, trying to hoist himself up and untie his legs. “No! No, ain’t about sass. Nah, I had a rough night. Y’see, I ain’t ever hit another feller before and I—“

A gunshot rang out and Levi’s eyes widened as the ground rushed up to meet him with a hard thump. He groaned and kicked wildly, standing up to confront the confused man from before. “Listen, buddy, that wasn’t fucking f—“ 

He chanced a look over the man’s shoulder, swallowing when he saw, Dutch, Beth, and Arthur with his gun raised and a self satisfied smirk on his face. Levi struggled to keep the strangled noise in his throat from escaping, but failed miserably when Arthur and Dutch gave a hearty laugh. Beth had preoccupied herself with kicking the shit out of the drunk bastard. 

“You ain’t got much sense, kid,” Arthur grunted out.

“I was gettin’ out,” Levi huffed, dusting the dirt off himself, “you just didn’t give me enough time.” 

“Micah reported one of our business partners hanging from a tree at dawn this morning,” Dutch laughed, “you had more than enough time.” 

Levi was still slightly disoriented and pissed over everything. “Who’s Micah?” 

Arthur’s expression soured a bit. “No one important.” 

Dutch rolled his eyes and Levi snorted, “whatever you say, sir.”

“Told you to call me Arthur, kid.” 

“Told you my name was Levi,” he retorted, earning a gun stock to the shoulder as Beth appeared behind him, scowling her signature scowl. 

“I’m gettin’ too goddamn old to clean up your messes,” she bit out, “bastard’s lucky I didn’t kill him.” 

Levi mocked her briefly, getting another hit to the gut before he kicked some gravel at her and gathered his wits enough to whistle for Beau, who was down by the stables at the end of the street. The horse was quick to make its way over and Levi was quick to mount him, metaphorically licking his wounds before he looked at Beth, who was now on her horse as well. “Where we headed?” 

“Horseshoe Overlook,” Beth quipped, and Levi watched in wonder as the other two men mounted up and began to lead the way out of town. “It’s where their gang is camped.” 

Gang. 

Levi’s blood ran cold as he thought of his father. All the bad times, the terrifying times, the constant moving and looting... The fear.

Levi hated gangs. 

Beau huffed as the party sped up and Levi spurred him as gently as possible to urge him on. The terrain was rocky and his horse was already delicate (Beth’s words, not his) so he tried to hang back from the group as to not slow them down. 

-.-.-.-

The camp was a lot nicer than the ones Levi had been a part of as a child. Everyone had their place, Dutch’s at the center, and there wasn’t much more than playful bickering from any of them as they rode in. 

One man in particular caught his eye, and not in a good way. He had greasy, blond-ish hair and dark circles. Dark eyes, too, that raked over Levi’s body and make him feel like he was covered in a thick slime. The man wore a smirk. 

“Well, now, Dutch, thought you said no more strays!” the man called and Levi tensed so hard he thought he’d squeeze Beau to death. So he hopped down and tied the horse off, patting him to distract himself. 

“Shut up, Micah,” Arthur shot back, and even though the other went right back at him, Levi wondered if Arthur was really joking. 

Dutch helped Beth off her horse after a moment and Levi looked helplessly after the two. He was so conflicted, being here. Everything felt too fast, like it always did with Beth, and it confused him to no end. He hated the whiplash lifestyle he lived and he wanted to settle down. That just wasn’t possible now, though, was it? Terrifyingly enough his life kept shooting forward. 

“Ain’t you s’pose to be our new doctor?” 

Levi was quickly learning that Micah was, in fact, a piece of work as he cautiously approached the man. “I’m a doctor, yeah, ain’t sure if I’m gonna be yours yet, though.” 

Micah laughed a hoarse and bitter wheeze. “Yeah, well, that’s what Ms. Maverick volunteered you for.” 

Levi groaned bitterly, “that so?”

“Yeah,” the man eyed him up and down again, “you sure you ain’t a woman?” 

Levi ended that conversation with a grunt and walked away from Micah’s cackling figure, only to be grabbed by a hefty looking woman. She took both his arms and smiled, shaking him lightly. He wasn’t too sure what to think.

“You must be Levi! Beth has just told me so much about you! C’mon now, let’s get you to your tent!” 

Levi let himself be lead away as his mind wondered. How much had Beth told her? That he was born and raised in a gang before his father abandoned him? That Beth found him on the streets, dirty and begging? Levi was never cunning enough to steal, that’s what he told himself, and he reckoned that was just the case. He wasn’t very smart, in his own eyes, just good at sometimes keeping people alive. Other times? No. 

Being a camp doctor was terrifying. Everyone counted on you. Levi thought of all the people he’d let down, the tolls on their families. A lot of them just couldn’t be saved, yet their relatives expected a miracle that Levi fell just short of producing. He hated to disappoint, because it made him disappointed in himself. 

Beth had a rough life, too. Always using her body for others, for awful men, never having it for herself. She told Levi once that she never felt like the grime would come off her skin. Since that moment, Levi had been doing more and more odd jobs when she wasn’t looking. He wanted her to be able to travel comfortably, and would bear the whole world just for her. She saved him, after all. 

Levi never knew his real mother, not really, and his father was a horrible, drunken shell of a man. He taught Levi how to shoot straight, ride a horse, and fight. He truly had never hit a man, not until last night, but he’d done other things. 

“It’s for the gang.”

 

Across the camp, Arthur answered the prodding questions from Javier and Lenny about the new kid in camp. Arthur figured having another oddball at the place would help take the heat off those two. Hell, Micah was already cutting into Levi, and while Arthur normally wouldn’t have given a shit... He did. It was a minuscule amount, really, just a courtesy, he told himself. 

“He’s cute,” Javier shrugged, “pinnacle of the American sweetheart. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fit...” 

Lenny coughed awkwardly and looked to Arthur for help, “Javier, men don’t usually talk about other men like that.” 

“Purely platonic, I assure you,” Javier chuckled, “Too young for me anyway.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes at that and watched Levi fumble with Mrs Grimshaw over to where Arthur stood next to his tent. Which... There was an extra cot in.

“We’ve had to cut some corners, Arthur,” she said, pushing Levi toward him. He held onto the kid’s bicep so he wouldn’t fall, and thought Levi might implode from the touch. Okay, so he didn’t like others touching him? Or he did? Arthur furrowed his brow and let go, turning and stepping over the bedroll on the ground. “You’ll note that you have walls now! Privacy at its finest— I made Dutch let me, you boys need ‘em now that there’s two of ya!” 

“Is it too late to succumb to my injuries?” Levi mumbled, earning a stern finger in his face and a good five minute lecture that had Arthur snickering. The younger man felt his cheeks heat in shame. 

“She takes some gettin’ used to, Easton. I wouldn’t worry about her,” Arthur said smoothly. Levi flopped onto the blankets, and kicked his boots off. He hummed in acknowledgement. 

“I think I just got a face that makes women wanna mother it,” he grunted. 

“Oh, come on. You’ll find you a woman who wants to do a helluva lot more than mother ya.”

Arthur saw Levi pause, furrowing his brow in confusion as the kid set about pulling fabric out of his satchel, tearing it into small strips. Arthur waited for some explanation as to why the kid was sitting in a tent in broad daylight, destroying someone’s old trousers. “Easton?”

“Y’all get shot a lot?” Levi responded absentmindedly, tilting his head and chewing his lip as he split some of the rougher fabric. He wrapped one around his arm experimentally, and once satisfied, sat the piece with the others. 

“Yeah— Yeah, that comes with the territory.” 

“I see. Well then, Morgan, what kinda doctor would I be if I didn’t have tourniquets ready?”

Arthur gave a somewhat blank stare and Levi’s face softened. 

“I ain’t sure what you mean.”

“You get shot, say, here,” Levi poked Arthur’s forearm and grabbed a piece of fabric, “Say it nicks somethin’ and you’re bleedin’ somethin’ fierce. You need t’stop that bleedin’, and to do that, you do this.” 

Arthur let the boy tie a piece of fabric tightly above where he’d poked him. His face soured, drawing in. “My fingers are tinglin’, doc.”

Levi tried to hide how excited that nickname made him. 

“That’s cause they aren’t gettin’ any blood, and neither would the bullet wound.” 

Arthur made a small “o” with his lips, watching how Levi pulled the tourniquet free with practiced ease. “Don’t s’pose you got any—“ 

“I carry brandy for the particularly tough cases, yes, and some moonshine for sterilization in the field. Or if I really need to knock you out.” 

Arthur nodded as Levi got back to his work, and really, Arthur should be doing a thousand other things than sitting here. Chores, collecting debt for Strauss, anything. But here he was, feeling equal to the smart man before him, because Levi made him feel smart. He explained tourniquets to him, something medical and foreign, and Arthur got it. 

The silence was far too comfortable, and Levi cringed when a confidence drunk Arthur broke it.

“Never did tell me about the eye.” 

“Barely fuckin’ know you,” Levi bit back, “I don’t plan on gettin’ cozy either, so don’t you plan on knowin’.”

Arthur frowned. “Round here, we respect each other. And if all you’re gonna do is mouth off—“ 

“Good evening, Mr Morgan,” Levi cut him off. He wasn’t in the mood for the spiel about how their gang was so different from the others. They were family, they loved each other, they were lying to themselves. Just how Levi’s father had. All those men are the same. 

He’s like your father. 

“Oh, come on n—“

“Evening, Mr Morgan,” Levi stood and brushed past, braid grazing Arthur’s extended hand, caught in a halting motion. 

“Evenin’.”

 

-.-.-.-

 

The first full week Levi had at the camp also happened to be the week that Hosea Matthews got a rock tossed at his head by, what Dutch called, a “damn O’Driscoll.” And while Levi hadn’t the slightest inclination as to what that meant, he still treated the older man, being as gentle as possible and making small talk along the way. Hosea was the first to break one of their few silences. 

“You and Arthur been avoidin’ each other like the damn plague,” he muttered. Levi realized he hadn’t given it much thought (he had) and shrugged absentmindedly, trying to focus on the task at hand. “You ought to give the man a chance. You mesh well at this camp, Easton. Hell, Dutch loves Beth more than life itself. They’re old friends, I knew that, but when they’re together they just seem to click.” 

Levi had noticed that too. He smiled and moved to grab another spare rag, “yeah, reckon Beth might be the easiest woman to get on with.” 

“What about you? You find the camp to your likin’?” 

Levi felt his stomach churn. Something about Hosea Matthews just made you wanna spill your guts, yet Levi held strong, “oh, it’s just fine, Mr Matthews.” 

“Please, Hosea.” 

“Hosea,” Levi nodded, tongue poking out briefly as he finished cleaning the wound to the other man’s head. “You’re all done! I’d refrain from layin’ down or strainin’ your eyes till sun down. If somethin’ don’t feel right, please tell me right away.” 

Hosea nodded politely, and Levi followed him to exit the tent, wincing as the bright sunlight hit his eyes. His left one, while blind, felt all the more sensitive and he cursed wildly to himself, moving toward the center of camp to grab a cup of coffee. It would seem, however, that someone had the same idea, as two hands clamped down on the kettle at once. Levi counted to three in his head, before chancing a look up into none other than Arthur Morgan’s inquisitive gaze. Levi wanted to crawl back in that tent. He was always asleep by the time Arthur got back, and Arthur was always awake and gone before he rose. 

“Easton.” 

“Morgan.” 

“Stop,” Javier mumbled, a man who’d spoken only once to Levi to wink at him in a lewd manner, “you’re both killing me. I can’t take the tension.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Arthur grunted, “he and I get on just fine.” 

Oh, what a fucking lie. 

“Exactly,” Levi smiled nervously, “...even though he snores.” 

Arthur chanced a glance and Levi and gave a startled laugh. That was the first semblance of warmth the boy had shown him since Arthur opened his stupid mouth a few days back. “I do not! You must be a dreamin’!” 

Javier cast a satisfied smile across the men at Hosea, snatching the kettle and pouring himself a cup. He sipped gingerly as he strutted away, leaving Levi to wonder just what he was on about. He shook his head and poured both himself and Arthur a coffee. 

“Oh, thank you,” Arthur murmured, watching the way Levi clasped his cup with both hands. The boy looked away and shrugged. “Listen, I’m sorry for prying the other day, I just—“ 

“It’s alright, Morgan. It just takes me a bit to cool down after things like that. I’m afraid I’m rather temperamental.” 

“Like a wild horse,” Arthur chuckled, confused when Levi’s face burned and he angled himself away from Arthur. “You become acquainted with John yet? Seems like you two would get along.” 

“Marston?” Levi asked, “the only soul here younger than me?” 

Arthur snorted, “he always tends to be left in the dust.” 

Levi mulled over the question and shook his head gently, “no, no. Met his wife, though. His kid has a nasty cold, but nothin’ some cough syrup and a Hot Toddy can’t cure.” 

“Jack’s a fighter, he’ll be okay.” 

“Oh, definitely. His mother dotes on him like a frantic hen.” 

“That’s Abigail,” Arthur nodded, “she loves the boy. He’s her pride and joy.” 

“He’s awful smart...” 

The conversation continued for well over an hour, both men contented to sip coffee and discuss camp matters together. They laughed and shared anecdotal tales as well, though Levi noticed Arthur never mentioned a mother or father. Not that he was one to judge, but much like Arthur, curiosity got the best of him. 

“What of your parents?” He asked quietly as they made their way back toward the tent. He held the flap open for Arthur who hesitated and stared blankly for a moment. Levi felt a pit gather in his stomach. “Me too, you know. Never knew my mother, father abandoned me.” 

That definitely wasn’t the whole story. 

Arthur softened briefly, and peeked over, “you got the sorta soul that makes a man wanna talk on forever, you know that?” 

Levi reveled in the praise briefly before shying a bit, “it’s just a good set of ears, Arthur. Ain’t got a good set of sights on me, so I might as well have some asset.” 

Arthur chuckled and made his way inside. Levi resolved himself to sitting and going about organizing his supplies. It didn’t take long for the pair to become adjusted to the silence, soft breaths bouncing off one another and making the interior of the tent feel warm and homey. Levi never felt that with anyone other than Beth, and it was odd and slightly terrifying. Like everything in him screamed to cower and run. Run from this man, this camp, this world that was slowly swallowing him whole. He was currently drifting belly-up in a sea of the Van der Linde gang and he didn’t know how long he could stay afloat. But when he looked over and saw Arthur, kind and welcoming Arthur, drawing all sorts of his medical supplies in his journal with a concentrated look, he decided he would surrender here if need be. Let himself finally grow closer to others that weren’t Beth, and finally breathe a bit. 

So he leaned back, laying out a handkerchief, white and lined with blue hydrangeas; the last thing he had from his mother, a sign he was staying. At least for now, this was where Levi was meant to be. 

“A memento from an old lover?” Arthur asked. 

“Nah, only thing i’ve got from my mother,” he supplied, watching the change in his companion’s face. “The flowers are hydrangeas.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arthur nodded and Levi paused. 

“...huh?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get intense and Arthur has to deal with feelings from his past.

The second that Levi doubts himself, is when Jack doesn’t get immediately better. He meets John, who’s nice enough, but predatory whenever Levi lingers too long around his family. He can understand that, but he doesn’t understand the gaze that comes his way every time he’s near Arthur. Recently, the two men have gotten closer and were teaching each other a lot about their respective “fields”. The weekend prior, Arthur had shown him how to use a bow, and as the pair came back to camp, John Marston glared daggers sharper than anything Levi had ever witnessed, straight into his very soul. 

Hosea had, again, been there to quell some of Levi’s initial fears. He’d told him, “John and Arthur are complicated. They’re close, or they were, and honestly? I don’t think John wants another man to take his place.” 

Levi tried to wrap his head around what exactly that “closeness” was. He couldn’t pinpoint it, and that frightened him to no end for some reason, because he wasn’t about to get murdered over some old lover’s dispute. So when he went to visit Jack a final time with the penultimate cough solution, John’s eyes bore into his skull, and he almost shit himself when the man asked him outside after he’d taken care of his son. 

“I apologize for not getting this solved sooner, Mr Marston, I’m—“ 

“Arthur ain’t a toy,” he glowered, “he ain’t some wind up father figure that has to play hero in every fucked up kid’s life.” 

Well that wasn’t what Levi had expected. 

“Arthur Morgan is more than capable, I’m aware,” Levi said slowly, “I don’t think he’s naive enough to let someone do that to ‘im.” 

John watched Levi with a slow calculated set of eyes, dark and boring down into his skin. “So what are your intentions, anyway? With him? The gang?” 

“To do my job,” Levi said quietly, preferring to avoid any sort of conflict he could, “and... Arthur is my friend.” 

He didn’t miss the look that shifted in John’s eyes, and he also didn’t miss the bitter tone he used as he brushed past Levi, “Arthur Morgan don’t have friends.” 

-.-.-.-

“Beth, there is no way in hell I am—“ 

“They’re confrontin’ a smaller gang, nothin like them, jus’ assertin’ their dominance.”

“I am not qualified to shoot! Or ride with them!”

“I didn’t know you had to have a degree,” Arthur joked, sliding past the pair to saddle up his horse. “Besides, who else is gonna patch us up out there?” 

“You want some moonshine and a pair of fresh trousers?” Levi retorted, grumbling as Hosea brushed behind him and patted his shoulder. “I’m not—“

“You are,” Dutch said, following the same path Arthur had to ready his horse. “Every man does his part.” 

“Yeah, I getcha,” Levi leveled, “but there ain’t no way in fresh hell I’m gettin’ my ass shot. I’m too weak for this shit.” 

Dutch seemed annoyed, pointing a finger at Levi, “you’re actin’ like a child.” 

“Lucky for you, Arthur is a brat tamer,” John spat, making a b-line for his horse and ignoring the effect his words had on everyone else. It felt like a double-edged sword, piercing through Levi and addling his brain. He ducked his head in shame and sighed; he supposed it wasn’t fair for him to always sit at camp. He was young and able-bodied, he should be out with the others doing what he needed to. 

“Well you certainly ain’t one, Marston, considerin’ how little Jack has seen of ya,” Arthur bit back, and Levi felt like a fish out of water. What the fuck was with those two?

Levi whistled for Beau and Beth went to retrieve his things from his tent, all the while Dutch scolded his two children for yelling at each other. He fixed them both with a look that said “I’ll fucking shoot both of you,” and it seemed to do the trick. Well enough anyway, and it even chilled Levi as he readied his horse for their trip. 

They set off soon after and Micah decided to bitch the whole way there about them bringing along a “lady,” all while Arthur told Micah to shut up and John just brooded silently. Micah Bell thought it was hilarious to keep prodding at Levi for his hair, but he never gave him any attention and paid no mind, which made the man try tenfold. 

Levi kept pace a bit farther back and set about running over his shooting strategies in his mind. He’d never shot a man (he didn’t want to think about that time. The one time.) but he figured that wouldn’t last long, not now, and not with the current company. He mourned that briefly, stopping as the group came to a halt at a hillside. 

“O’Driscolls,” John supplied to Levi, “that’s who we’re after.” 

He’d occupied space in this gang long enough now to know exactly who they were, and what that meant. When Hosea had been hurt by one of them, his curiosity got the best of him and he’d eventually asked Dutch and Beth who they were. It was probably one of the oddest explanations he’d ever received. 

“But, Beth said—“ 

“She lied,” John shrugged, “Dutch told me I had to stay with you, so since you need a fucking watch dog, maybe keep your mouth shut and make yourself useful?” 

As calloused as John was to him, Levi still felt a kindred spirit in the man. Two sides of the same coin, perhaps, one angry and one coping, just barely, and altering their very personalities. It was odd to think about, in some ways, that they were similar. Not only in their spirits, but their faces were marred with past mistakes. Just how John seemed to flick his eyes over to Levi every time he shied away and self consciously attempted to hide his scar, Levi noticed John in the same token. 

They were both young and stupid, Levi figures, robbed of a normal life by circumstance. Though John himself had a family, had a choice, and had a chance. He yearned to ask “why?” Why hadn’t John left this life, taken his family, and ran? Why? 

“What exactly do you want me to do, Marston?” 

Before John could open his mouth to retort, a gunshot rang out and made Levi’s mouth dry up. He wet his lips and clutched his gun closer to him, trying to keep the tremble out of his hands. And when John gave him a soft look, eyes focusing on the fear Levi was desperately trying to tame, he pretended not to notice. He hated seeming so weak-willed, especially given his background. 

“I’ll shoot em before—“ 

John’s sentence was cut short as he was jerked back from his place, gun knocked out of his hands. There was little to no time to process what had happened, and Levi tried to reason with himself and not panic because the fucking man who’d grabbed him looked like a beefcake compared to the both of them. Where had his big ass come from? How had he and John not heard him, and he came from behind, why wasn’t Levi watching better? 

“John!” Levi stood quickly at pointed his gun at the assailant, who in turn aimed his at John’s head, “let him go, please.” 

“Put the gun down, boy.” The man had a laugh at Levi’s niceties. 

In his mind, another man’s voice from years prior echoed and bounced about his skull: “Put that damn gun down, Levi.” 

He tried to keep himself steady as he lowered the gun and his brain began to kick into overdrive. There were only so many ways to get out of this with both of them alive. He had to prove he was worth this, that he could do something. He looked up, made eye contact with John, a silent apology, and took one more deep breath before he shot and lodged a bullet straight into the edge of John Marston’s foot. 

When Marston dropped, howling with pain, the O’Driscoll floundered enough for Levi to fix him with one right between the eyes. He prayed John didn’t catch his quickly paling face. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Easton! You son of a bitch!” 

Levi dropped immediately, jerking away John’s boot and noticing the wound was entirely superficial and he did not, in fact, stick a bullet in his foot. In that moment he was thankful he’d been so shaky. He sighed in relief and grabbed a rag from his side pouch, dousing it with moonshine and dabbing away the blood. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, putting pressure there until the bleeding stopped. “I didn’t trust myself to shoot for him without hittin’ you.” 

John was quiet now, watching the way Levi’s hands shook. 

“You never shot somebody, have you?” 

Levi thinks back to the one memory he keeps buried. 

“No, no,” Levi murmured, sliding John’s sock back on and tucking his sore foot back into his boot, “guns ain’t really my thing.” 

“Thank you.” 

Levi felt like his stomach and brain did a collective 180, and he took a steadying breath. “No problem, Marston.” 

They resumed their earlier position, more vigilant now, eyes scanning the field as men fired wildly and shot for each other. Levi didn’t miss the way John twitched every time one went in Arthur’s direction and he frowned. 

“I can take care of myself, Marston. Go cover Arthur’s back,” Levi said, shoving the man gently. John glanced over to Levi, whose brow was set in determination. “I know how to pull a trigger.” 

John nodded, kneeling and taking his gun, running off in Arthur’s direction as covertly as possible. Levi felt his blood pumping in his ears, adrenaline spiking and getting the better of him. The devil on his shoulder said “stay put” but when Charles went down on one knee, hit by a stray bullet, he slung his satchel over his shoulder and broke out of the brush. 

He slid in beside Arthur and John who were currently fretting over Charles, back hitting the rickety side of the wood stall the three were trying to hide in. Arthur was so spooked by the sudden intrusion that he had the barrel of a gun in Levi’s mouth in record time. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Easton, you were right. You’re gonna get your ass shot!” 

Levi tried to ignore Arthur, tying a strip of fabric around Charles’ leg and giving him a small shot of whiskey. He frowned at the way the blood just dropped out sluggishly and thick. He turned back to the other two and gave Arthur a swift smack on the back of the head. 

“Alright, boss, get us outta here, then!” Levi bit back sarcastically, sinking further to the ground as bullets whizzed past their heads. Charles let out a low noise. “I need to get him back to camp and get that bullet out and everythin’ cleaned before he comes down with a fever.” 

Arthur looked conflicted, “I ain’t your boss.” 

“That all you heard me say, Morgan?” Levi hissed, noticing John as he leaned up to take a few shots and, judging by the hard thumps he heard after them, he hit his intended targets. “Charles, hey, look at me.” 

“I’m fine, doc,” he said quietly in return, ever the stoic and calm man. It made Levi’s stomach burn with guilt. 

“You heard the man,” John muttered, “lead the way.” 

Arthur stood first, a bold move really, shooting and getting nicked a few times as guns fired their last shots from the hands of dying men. Levi prayed nothing stuck, and judging by the minuscule amount of blood on Arthur’s shirt, nothing did. He was thankful for that at least, and even more thankful when everything fell somewhat silent and he heard Dutch’s voice. 

“Arthur! You search that cabin! And Levi, John... What the hell did I say to the both of you? Stay fucking put! Neither of you listen, bunch a damn kids...” 

“Charles is hurt, Dutch,” John called back, eyeing the man on the ground with sympathy, “doc says he needs to go back to camp!” 

Dutch frowned briefly, eyeing Levi, “alright. John, you help ‘im along.” 

Levi cast one look at Arthur’s retreating figure and for some reason felt a fear settling in him. The bushes by the tree to Arthur’s back were swaying with more than just wind. Levi pulled his pistol from his side and watched as John cocked a brow at him. He lifted it and shot near the tree, causing an O’Driscoll to scurry out in enough time for Arthur to react and end him. He peeked back at Levi and smirked. 

“I think our good doctor knows a bit more than he’s lettin’ on,” Arthur chided. Levi felt his cheeks burn as he hit him with a smile. 

“I told you, Morgan, it’s just a good set of ears.” 

-.-.-.-

 

Arthur took his time getting back, riding beside Dutch but not listening to a word he said. 

See, he was confused. 

Arthur was always so damn confused. He’d watched Levi run to them, bullets flying, and he hated to admit it but he was terrified the kid would get hit. He was also terrified to admit that he was awakening things that Arthur thought had died within him long ago. There had been a time, a few years ago, when John looked at Arthur with those same naive and curious eyes. Young and stupid and attractive and Arthur drunk it all in without complaint. He took what John had to give, like a selfish beast, reveling in feeling loved. But Arthur soon remembered that love just wasn’t in the cards for him. 

Abigail was pregnant, complicating an already complicated situation, and Arthur ended it the second he found out. He looked at John and told him to take care of his family, of his boy, and despite John’s protests he didn’t show any more romantic attention to him. And Arthur was sure, so fucking certain, that it was just John. John was that exception. He was the one thing that drove Arthur, made him lie in bed with another man, throwing God the finger all the while. John had told him God would’ve damned him for far worse things long ago if that was ever going to happen. 

And John, for all his lingering attachments, he’d moved on. He loved Abigail. Didn’t mean he hadn’t loved Arthur, but Abigail and him were a thing. Exclusive, mutually so, and Arthur would’ve bled his heart out pining a long time ago if he started wasting tears on the past. But Levi wasn’t the past, was he? No. He was here now, not with a woman in tow, and not so young anymore. He was scarred and reserved, something Arthur could admire, and he figured that would’ve been where it ended. 

But his mind just couldn’t stop fucking turning. Images of the young doctor, bent to help Charles, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and sweat on his brow, all flew behind Arthur’s eyelids every time he blinked. He saw Levi’s slim figure as he poured Arthur a coffee every morning, even though it was cold by the time Arthur got back from running his errands. He saw the boy drawing back that bow and hitting a rabbit and practically howling with delight, grabbing onto Arthur with excitement and yelling, “did you see that?” 

Of course Arthur saw it. Levi was all he could fucking see nowadays. He prayed that this wouldn’t last; it was new and driven purely by lust at the new companion, right? He’d known him for around three weeks now, and sometimes he found himself more drawn to him that he should’ve been. Maybe Micah had a point about Levi looking like a woman, maybe that was the root of it all. 

No, no that wasn’t it. Levi had a strong set jawline, angular but soft eyes, broad shoulders yet slender in the same token. His chest was flat and wide, not toned with as much muscle as Arthur or John, but still there. His waist didn’t curve where a woman’s would have, and frankly, Arthur didn’t want it to. He loved the straight figure of the other man, how he always crossed one arm over his chest and picked at his mouth with his other hand. 

He enjoyed long nights spent up talking, drawing, and sharing knowledge. Arthur let Levi draw in his journal, something not even John had touched, and he found himself at a loss as for why. There was no explicable reason for the way his eyes seemed to travel the length of Levi’s calloused fingers, not delicate or feminine at all. Levi Easton was a man, just like John had been, and Arthur still found his body reacting to everything the boy did. 

Micah broke the silence as they neared Horseshoe Overlook, “Charles had no right to go and stir all that up. That Easton boy is a right good shot, coulda used him that whole damn fight if he wasn’t fretting over Charles and John like a woman.” 

Arthur bristled slightly, readjusting in his saddle self consciously. “Levi ain’t used to this type a lifestyle, Micah.” 

“Oh, shut up, cowpoke. Did you see the look in that boy’s eyes? He’s been trained in shootin’ before. Jus’ like you an’ John. There’s somethin’ he an’ Beth ain’t a tellin’ us.” 

“Yeah?” Arthur grunted, “you didn’t see how terrified that boy looked up close.” 

“Well,” Micah laughed, “as much of a sissy as he is—“

“Shut up,” Arthur grunted, and he didn’t miss the odd look he received from Dutch. 

“Both of you shut up; Levi is here to be a doctor. He’s here to keep you two idiots from bleedin’ out on the field.” 

Arthur snapped his lips shut tight, frowning at the way Micah looked at him. He couldn’t keep quiet for long. “Why’s you so concerned with Easton, anyways?” 

“Same curiosity you had with John,” Micah prodded, and boy, wasn’t that the wrong fucking thing to say to Arthur in that moment. 

“Micah, you best shut your goddamned mouth,” Arthur grumbled. 

“Why? Why’re you so interested in some dumb kid, Arthur?” Micah came to ride near Arthur, but Dutch peeked back with a concerned look. “We all know what kinda sinnin’ you and Marston—“ 

Arthur spurred his horse, shooting ahead of the group and trying his best to calm himself. His knuckles were white with strain against his reins and his horse panted in time with his pounding heart. He ignored the way Dutch screamed after him, and the way he was yelling at Micah about how wrong he was, John and Arthur were brothers. 

They weren’t disgusting. 

Out of all the things Micah could fucking pick at, it had to be the sorest scab, and Arthur hated how fucking right his words felt. It was sinful, wasn’t it? Didn’t the bible say so? Arthur knew of men who hanged for the same crimes he had committed, and he wished that thought made him feel indifferent. 

 

When Arthur reached camp, his feet carried him straight to his tent, and he tried to ignore the disappointment tugging at his gut when he found it empty. But then he hear screams echoing across the camp and realized they were Charles’ and he felt bile rising in his throat. He was getting sloppy, he had to be better, had to protect his family.

Levi didn’t come in until it was almost dark, shirt clinging to him with sweat and blood, stray strands of hair sticking to his forehead and neck. He’s got blood up to his elbows and he looks tired and petrified at the same time, shakily sitting on the edge of Arthur’s bed. He doesn’t say anything, just sits, and closes his eyes. 

“I jus’ need to hear someone else who’s not breathin’ as hard as me,” Levi whispers, and Arthur feels his heart swell in the moment. 

“Alright,” he says just as softly and Levi tenses, before he lets a small sound escape his lips. 

“I thought he was gonna die, Arthur.” 

He wishes the first time he ever said his first name didn’t sound so broken.

“I thought I was gonna fail,” Levi shakily muttered. His bloodshot eyes opened and tiredly laid on Arthur’s face, all bright and used up, “I ain’t too sure he’s gonna be alright, even now. Not for a while. We gotta wait this fever out.” 

“Charles is stronger than a ox,” Arthur assures him, keeping his voice low as to not disturb the bubble they’ve built around themselves. “An’ you’re the best doctor around.” 

“No, I ain’t Arthur,” his voice raised an octave and his eyes burst to life with tears and panic and Arthur feels himself scooting to the side to let the boy fall in beside him. He’s shaking like a leaf and Arthur lets his pride get the better of him, not touching him. “I ain’t even a good doctor.” 

Arthur took his eyes off Levi and started up at the sloping roof of their tent. He frowned. “You’re a good man. Smart, too. Doin’ a helluva lot better than any of these jackasses could.” 

It was quiet for a moment, and a tired voice nested itself at the base of Arthur’s skull, warming his spine with sparks of promise. 

“Thank you.” 

He nodded gently. 

“Get some rest, Easton. We’ll get this shit off ya in the mornin’.” Arthur didn’t get a chance to say anything else before soft snores floated through the air toward him. He felt so warm, so small, and so secluded. He felt like he did, all those years ago, and it scared him. 

The last thought he had before he drifted to sleep, is that Levi’s hair was the softest thing he’d ever felt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi deals with prospect of having friends, and then not having them, and learns that Micah might be the worst man he’s ever met. Hate is a strong word, but an appropriate one.

Levi wakes up the next morning, his torso slung off Arthur’s bed and onto his own bedroll, legs resting in an empty space. He was crusty and sticky with blood, his head was pounding and he was all too willing to die at any moment. He groaned at the bright light casting shadows on him even through their “walls,” and he resigned himself to stand and gather his wits before he went outside.

 

Mrs Grimshaw practically pounced on him the second she caught sight of him, dragging him by his ear to wash off. She made him change into a new shirt and washed his hair for him, which was emasculating enough without her scolding him the whole time. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t embarrassed as hell, especially when he noticed the predatory glare Micah was giving his backside. It made him want to throw up into the soapy water.

 

She made him swear to keep his hair untied for the day, not only to let it dry but to help his headache as well, and how she knew he had one was beyond him, but he didn’t argue.

 

Then, Beth made it her job to fret on him as he fixed himself breakfast, and he tried to keep himself motivated to eat as best he could. In all honesty, he didn’t want to. His appetite had shriveled up and died on Charles’ tent floor last night. “Levi, you should check on him.”

 

He knew Beth was right, and that Charles wasn’t in fact dead, because Mrs Grimshaw had spent the night acting as his nurse. It made him feel a bit better to think about when he approached the tent, looking in and kneeling by the bed. His knees ached with the action, as he’d been in a similar position the night before while he removed the bullet. He worked for hours, stopping bleeding little by little and giving the delirious man breaks to breathe through the pain. He was convinced briefly that Charles was going to die from blood loss, yet here he was, mumbling lightly in his sleep and giving Levi a damn heart attack.

 

He felt the man’s forehead and sighed in relief. The fever he’d developed the night prior was already down substantially, likely due to Mrs Grimshaw’s constant doting care. He would have to thank the woman later, maybe even make her his official nurse, though he doubted she’d take the title. It made him chuckle to think about her tied down to that job, and he let his mind wonder as he took the bucket sitting beside the bed and headed out to grab more cool, fresh water from the river.

 

He hummed to himself, smiling a bit when he noticed John sitting leaned against a rock on the shore, his hat dipping and keeping the sun from his eyes. John wasn’t all bad, still probably going to give Levi the cold shoulder despite the day before, and he was okay with that. He didn’t expect everyone to be as welcoming as his bunkmate.

 

Arthur himself was out wading and holding Jack up as he splashed around. Levi immediately wanted to scold John and Arthur, especially since he had no idea if Jack’s cough had actually been resolved, but he couldn’t when he saw the happiness on both their faces. Jack was giggling, high pitched and childish, while Arthur laughed back with a bluntness to his tone. The scene felt intimate and familial and made something in Levi’s gut move.

 

He frowned to himself, thudding the bucket down, which made him fear John might shoot him when he did. The man jumped and fell to the side, hand shoving his hat off as he stared at Levi bitterly. “You are the biggest idiot in this fuckin’ camp.”

 

Levi snickered, “what happened to bein’ nice to me, Marston?”

 

“That died soon as my damn foot started achin’,” John grumbled, folding his arms over his chest as he sat back up. He turned his attention to the river. “What’re you doin’ out here, anyways?”

 

“Gettin’ some water to bring down Charles’ fever,” he supplied.

 

John hummed and nodded, eyes leaving Arthur and Jack to fixate back on Levi. Something burned behind his irises. “How is he?”

 

“Oh, uh. Better,” Levi nodded. Levi himself was tired and everything felt like it was falling apart. But he had other people to take care of, as always, and other things to fret over. “Fever should break tomorrow evenin’, or so I’m hopin’.”

 

“Yeah? And what about you?”

 

Levi stilled and sighed, “ain’t nothin’ wrong with me. I ain’t the poor bastard who got shot.”

 

“And if you had been?”

 

Levi started walking again, nearing the edges of the water to dip in the bucket and fill it. The liquid rippled in a steady pattern, one that you could watch drift on forever. His still damp hair fell around his shoulders, edges dipping into the water as he strained to stand, sore muscles protesting every move he made. “Guess I’d have died, Marston.”

 

“No,” John shook his head, “you gotta start trusting the gang. One of us would’ve had your back.”

 

His father’s voice invaded his ears, swirling in his head and gnawing at him.

 

“I know,” he lied.

 

And that was the end of that.

 

 

When Levi reached Charles again, he immediately set about wiping the sweat from him and drying his skin. He hoped that might alleviate some of the disgusting feeling of sick hanging over him. He then placed a cool rag over his forehead, and sighed at the way Charles groaned in his sleep when he went to change his bandages. He wished there was something to dull his pain, make things better, and fix it. Perhaps if Levi had been a better doctor, he would’ve been able to.

 

He made sure everything was clean, that all the infection was draining, and he rinsed his hands. He wanted to tear off his skin, to scrub and scrub and scrub. He wanted to bite at his knuckles until they bled and then, as suddenly as the anger came, fatigue swept in after. He closed his eyes and leaned against the tent post in front of him, murmuring incoherently.

 

A prayer.

 

Actually, instead of the existentialism, he would go back to his tent for a nap. That sounded far better.

 

 

-.-.-.-

 

 

“You act like sleepin’ is a career,” Arthur jabbed, eyeing the way Levi curled into his bed, “what’s wrong with your bedroll? Don’t you know it’s almost dark?”

 

Levi hesitated, and Arthur couldn’t catch everything flickering behind his eyes, the scarred hunk of useless flesh twitching inside his eyelid as Arthur spoke. “Ground hurt.”

 

Arthur is the one to hesitate now, remembering John’s eyes from hours before. His sad eyes, looking all too conflicted and fearful for Arthur’s liking. He remembers John’s warning, his silent wishes, the way he begged Arthur to stay away from Levi. “Don’t break his heart, too,” John had whispered, voice dripping with venom and pain. “He’s stupider than me, he might actually think you love ‘im.”

 

“Look, last night ain’t ever gonna happen again kid, so you best get up.”

 

Levi’s face soured and he sat up, “you think I’m trying to get you in bed with me?”

 

“No, no that ain’t— Jesus, don’t talk about that shit out loud.”

 

Levi feels his stomach sink, feels his heart ache. He got too close again, didn’t he? Let himself start to make a friend that didn’t want to keep him. He felt like a dirty dog, used and tossed out. “I ain’t some fucking kid that needs you to babysit me. Maybe that shit works with Marston, but it won’t get you a damn thing with me.”

 

“Shut up about John,” Arthur rumbled, “you know it’s strange for two men to share a bed. I barely know you, was feelin’ sorry for you an—“

 

Levi stands and slams his shoulder into Arthur as he walks past. He remembers John’s words, “Arthur Morgan don’t have friends.” Truer words had never been spoken; the man was absolutely the most guarded, selfish asshole Levi had ever had the misfortune of befriending.

 

So why did it bother him so much?

 

“Trouble in paradise?” Micah jabbed, and boy, didn’t he just have a knack for pouring salt in open wounds. “Arthur Morgan is the roughest company in this camp, don’t know why you wasted the past three weeks going doe-eyed at him.”

 

Levi slams the coffee cup he picks up right back down onto the table in front of him. He scowls sideways and grips the cup until his knuckles go white. Something about the thought of friendship did things to Levi; he rarely had friends, wasn’t allowed when he was younger, and couldn’t do it with the kind of life he and Beth lived. All the few friends he’d ever made had been dead patients in his care.

 

“I’ve more things to worry about than a mouthy gunslinger, Mr Bell,” Levi hissed, turning to face him. “Either way, don’t see it as your goddamn business.”

 

Micah held his hands up with a dark chuckle, inching closer to Levi. “I just find it funny how you two is always together, like him and John—“

 

“Mind your own fuckin’ business, Micah Bell, before I shove that rat face of yers in a steamin’ pile of horse shit.” Levi tells himself its a benevolent warning. “It’ll be the closest thing to a family reunion you’ll ever fuckin’ get.”

 

That got a reaction, and the older man was in his face spitting profanities louder than the most religious preacher one could imagine before Levi could even form a coherent thought, much less a plan of action. Later, Levi would blame his reaction on stress; he was stressed from dealing with Charles and from the prospect of being thrown back into action. The callous words of a man he felt he barely knew had nothing to do with it, and Micah’s words weren’t at fault either, it just had to be stress. Just had to be.

 

He busted Micah in the jaw.

 

He wanted to laugh at how fast Micah got back on his feet, really he did, but there was a fist hitting his cheekbone and he couldn’t focus on anything but just hitting back, getting the last punch in, and just hitting. And he feels like he’s on cloud nine, for once, at peace and one with himself, with what his father told him he was. What he was becoming.

 

“You’s just like your daddy,” he remembers him saying, cupping Levi’s jaw and looking at his split lip, “you know why I have to do it, don’t you?”

 

Levi didn’t, not at the time. He never understood how hitting someone could feel good, feel rewarding, make his heart speed up and stutter with excitement. But his head hurt now, his heart hurt, and he wanted to run again. He remembers his father, grabbing his ankle and letting him fall to the mud like a log. He remembers being dragged back, kicking and screaming; “Real men don’t run from a fight, Levi.”

 

Levi snaps out of it when John picks him up, and he feels even worse when he elbows the man hard enough to make him drop him immediately. He doesn’t feel bad though, kicking Micah hard enough to bring the blood to his lips. He regrets not hitting John the second time he grabs him, and then he doesn’t, and he just— doesn’t. It’s the only word for what he’s feeling, the sudden stillness settling in on the flames burning his aching muscles and sizzling out.

 

He realizes Beth is saying something to Dutch, who’s storming toward the pair like a mad bull. Levi feels angry again when he sees Arthur Morgan holding Micah back. _Better_   _be_ _careful_ _touching_ _another_ _man_ , _Morgan_ , Levi thought, _people_ _might_ _start_ _a_ _talkin_ ’.

“Let me at the little bastard!” Micah yelled, flailing and almost worming his way from Arthur’s arms. Levi’s fury is silent, dripping wax from a burnt wick, covering his wounds and dulling every sense in one fell swoop. He doesn’t know he’s crying until the saltwater collects in his split lip. John is hugging him more than holding him at this point, and he doesn’t know why, but he knows the others are scared. Scared of Micah and him tearing each other to shreds, judging by the viciousness they displayed in a ten second fight. Brutality was what Levi’s father was good at, not him. Not until now.

 

“Shut up,” Levi said, eyes springing forth with angry tears, “you don’t know a goddamn thing!”

 

“Maybe if you weren’t—“

 

“I’ll bust your other fucking teeth out, Bell,” Levi hissed the threat low and John backed up instinctively, dragging Levi with him. The smaller of the two was hanging limply in the other’s arms, stressed and wrung out. Levi’s high was disappearing, and with it, came an assault of pain blossoming over his face and gut.

 

“Both of you, zip it,” Dutch bellowed, and Levi would deny the heavy flinch that racked his body and made John tighten his grip on him. He started to get the feeling the man was holding him for Levi’s protection, not Micah’s. “What the hell were you two thinking?”

 

“He attacked me!” Micah yelled, and Levi laughed.

 

“Yes, absolutely, that’s what happened. Driven by stress and madness, I awoke with a desire to snap the stupidest motherfucker in camp’s neck. Luckily for all of you, it was Micah.”

 

John stifled a laugh.

 

“You think this is funny, Marston? You, Easton, take a fucking walk and clear your head. John, you’re on guard duty.”

 

 

 

 

The walk along the ridge was mostly silent, save for the ruffling of clothes as Levi blotted his busted lip with his sleeve. He hated losing himself like that. His father would be so proud.

 

“What’d Micah say to get your ass all riled up?”

 

Levi thought for a moment. It had been the comment about Arthur and John, hadn’t it? The fact that he was implying certain things, things about Levi and Arthur as well, when they barely knew each other. It set him off.

 

But should he tell him the truth?

 

“Well,” Levi kicked a stray branch, “wouldn’t keep his mouth shut ‘bout you an’ Arthur.”

 

John stilled, deathly still, face pale in the moonlight. A horrible poker face.

 

“What?” John asked so quiet that Levi almost mistook the word for a wisp of wind.

 

“Micah likes to imply things,” Levi explained, “not that I care— but he’s sticking his nose where it ain’t suppose to be. The way he said those things, John, I—“

 

The intimacy of first names wasn’t lost on either of them. John still didn’t move, but his posture almost seemed to radiate a more relaxed energy. “Yeah?”

 

“I ain’t ever had friends before,” Levi closed his eyes, ignoring the way he felt John’s zeroing in on that scar. “Hell, I ain’t been here long. Don’t have the right to call no one but Beth an acquaintance.”

 

“It’s hard, ain’t it?” John replies, finally letting his head raise to stare at the stars. “I’m sorry I been so hard. I ain’t too sure how to be much else.”

 

“I never resented you for it, you know. You an’ Arthur have history, good or bad, and we was gettin’ close.”

 

“I’m not a jealous woman, Easton,” John huffed.

 

“Either way,” Levi shrugged sadly, “ain’t much of a friendship can happen there anymore. You was right. About Arthur, I mean. He don’t have friends, and I don’t think he wants them.”

 

Something akin to guilt coils in John’s stomach and drips through his teeth. He takes a steadying breath. “He’s a natural heartbreaker.”

 

“Ain’t much to break after so little time knowing’ each other.”

 

“But you understood each other,” John says slowly, “an’ he certainly liked spendin’ time with you. Jack started callin’ you Uncle Arthur’s Levi.”

 

“Kids do that,” Levi laughs. “I guess I was just too eager to have a friend.”

 

“You still got one,” John said sheepishly, head turned to the side. And if Levi had both his eyes, he might’ve sworn the man was flushed red.

 

“You gonna buy me roses next time, Marston?”

 

Levi breaks out into a laugh as the other man groans in frustration and shoves him. John tries to hard to fight the bright smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, urging him on.

 

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” John hisses, “this sappy shit— it ain’t for me. Abigail says I’m about as lovin’ as the plague.”

 

“More like a fungus, John, ya grow on people.”

 

Levi howls with laughter when John hits him again, far too amused with his own joke. “Alright! Alright.”

 

John huffs and shakes his hair out, clapping Levi on the back. “For what it’s worth, Easton, you’s probably the least annoying bitch in this camp. Even if ya are fussier than a mother hen.”

 

Levi’s chest swelled and he beamed, “you mean it?”

 

“Aw, shit, don’t let it go to your head.”

 

“I ain’t! I ain’t, I swear,” he laughs.

 

The silence consumes them once more. It’s softer this time.

 

Soon, their time together ends, and Levi has to prepare himself to face Arthur again. He prayed the man didn’t think his temper tantrum was a direct result of their squabble earlier; there wasn’t any sense losing your head over a man you barely knew. He was about halfway through his personal pep talk when a scream bounced off the trees surrounding the camp.

 

Charles.

 

Levi doesn’t think he’s ever moved faster than that moment, sliding into the man’s tent with fear in his chest. He finds him sitting bolt upright, terrified, the most coherent he’s been in a while. And when he tries to calm him, lay him back down, he gets another first directly in the face.

 

Levi surmises that this is just not his day.

 

It takes a full two hours to finally quell the man, giving him enough liquor to knock out a fully grown horse. It’s rough, but he manages, and he lets his head sag as he realizes it’s almost dawn. How long had he and John walked?

 

No rest for the weary, he supposed.

 

Dutch was the first man out of his tent, casting a look toward Levi. Beth is out after him, wearing a yellow dress and looking as ethereal as ever. Levi wants to sink into her arms, let her hold him, like old times, and whisper reassurance to him. He misses being coddled sometimes, especially because Beth’s hugs were so good. He didn’t move.

 

“You look like shit.”

 

Levi looks to his right and sees Javier, tutting and shaking his head at him.

 

“Thanks,” Levi says gruffly.

 

“Shoulda let me beat his ass, kid. Dutch won’t yell at me,” Javier winks lewdly, but for some reason it doesn’t bother him.

 

“I will too,” Dutch muttered, “I yell at you all the time, Javier.”

 

The other man saluted Dutch, spinning on his toe and walking in the opposite direction. Levi sometimes wondered why Javier even butted into things.

 

“Levi,” Dutch said, motioning for the boy, turning to stalk back toward his tent. Beth tilted her head at Levi, who followed obediently with his shoulders sagging.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You did good, helpin’ us with them O’Driscolls, real fine... But there’s still more comin’ up, a train heist, and Micah is gonna be there,” Dutch flicked his eyes over to Beth, who nodded approvingly, “and I need you to be with us, too.”

 

“When?” Levi grit his teeth and wanted to pull at his hair until he went mad.

 

“Tonight.”

 

“Dutch,” Beth cut in now, shaking her head fervently, “that’s too early, Charles is still outta commission—“

 

“That’s what Levi is for,” Dutch huffs, “he’s a man, he knows how t’shoot.”

 

Beth glowered at the him, “you know that ain’t what I meant, Dutch.”

 

“Lemme know when we’re a leavin’ and I’ll be ready,” Levi interjected, tiredly spinning on his heel and walking back into the early morning sun.

 

Mrs Grimshaw caught him again, this time by the wrist, forcing him to sit as she washed him off and gave all his wounds a once over. She’d smiled and proudly announced, “nothing broken!” as if Levi himself hadn’t done a mental check as soon as the fight ceased. Still, he did appreciate her being so diligent and concerned. She also didn’t miss his dull eye twitching with strain, but when she moved to check that side of his face he drew away on instinct, fixing her with a hard glare as he left.

 

Arthur’s tent— their tent —seemed like a sanctuary compared to anything outside. Arthur should’ve been asleep, or just waking up; either way, he wouldn’t have any reason to talk to Levi and he thanked God for small miracles. He wondered if Arthur was as bothered by everything as him. The short answer was no, probably not, and that made Levi’s face heat with shame as he opened the flap.

 

Arthur was propped up in bed, reading through one of Levi’s textbooks with his brow scrunched in concentration. It was endearing, until he remembered the circumstances, and cleared his throat as obnoxiously as possible. Arthur’s head snapped up, eyes locking onto Levi’s form, before he relaxed a bit. He diverted his gaze.

 

“You look like shit.”

 

“Thanks, Morgan,” Levi snorted, flopping ass-first onto his bedroll. He noticed Arthur was holding his copy of _The_ _Medical_ _Genius_ and rolled his eyes. “You understand any of that?”

 

Arthur’s face was a shade darker now, and he scowled, “whatta you think?”

 

“Probably not.”

 

It was quiet for a moment, until Arthur slammed the book shut and reached for another. He opened it, pausing at the first illustration he came across.

 

“It’s a cow.”

 

“That’s a _Stock_ _Doctor_ textbook,” Levi explained, “its about doctorin’ livestock.”

 

“Oh.”

 

More quiet, and another book plucked off their table. _Diseases_ _of_ _the_ _Nose_ _and_ _Throat_ , _Illustrated_. Arthur frowned. “Ain’t these kinda morbid?”

 

“Sickness is an ugly thing,” Levi muttered lowly. Was he sick? The way he felt about men, was it a disease? “Ugly, ugly thing.”

 

The next was _The_ _Science_ _of_ _Art_ _and_ _Surgery_. Arthur couldn’t say much of that, couldn’t understand much of it, anyway, and shut the book. The next thing he grabbed was small and leather bound, closer to Levi’s side of things than anything else. Something personal that Levi wished he’d have noticed Arthur had in his hands.

 

“Jesus— what’s all these names?”

 

Levi’s head snaps up and he practically tackles the other man for the book. “Ain’t Dutch ever teach you not to touch shit that ain’t yours?”

 

Arthur surrendered, holding his hands up as he stood. He shuffled aimlessly for a moment, before his eyes turned to his bed.

 

“If your bedroll really ain’t comfortable, while I’m away, I reckon I don’t mind if...”

 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Levi held his hand up now, exposing the soft palm to Arthur in an effort to shoo him away, “just go.”

 

Arthur pauses, but eventually does leave, which in turn gives Levi time to sit and just think, surrounded by the work of men far smarter than he ever hoped to be. Most doctors studied, went to University; most doctors anybody knew were reliable and dependable, not outlaws with itchy trigger fingers. Levi lets himself sag further to the floor, not stopping till he hits the ground with a soft “oof,” the air rushing out of him momentarily.

 

He closes his eyes and sees his father. So he opens them. He hates the way those memories look, the way they feel, the ones before he lost sight in his eye. Everything is so vivid and whole, unlike Levi, who’s a broken man now— a puzzle piece alone and adrift in a lake.

 

He stared up at the ceiling while he picked at the grass under his bedroll. What a complicated life.

 

How lonely.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi gets his ass handed to him in more ways than one. 
> 
> [[THIS CHAPTER DISCUSSES ABUSE, CHILDHOOD SEXUAL ASSAULT, AND INTERNALIZED HOMOPHOBIA]]

The rain is pounding down so hard it hurts, and the air is far too muggy to breathe comfortably. The men around him holler and jeer and spit toward him as his chest slams into the wet mud. It stings, he thinks, before he’s jerked backward by the ankle. His screams are hoarse and young; his head hurts and the blood from his left eye is rolling in a steady trail toward the edge of his mouth, making him choke and sputter. His skull feels like it’s splitting and he’s worried the knife cut him down to the bone— not that anyone else would care. 

“Men don’t run, Levi!” 

He screams and kicks, though a scrawny fourteen year old against a fully grown man wasn’t exactly a fair fight by any standards. 

“Pa, stop, please!” he yells and his eyes are wide despite the pain, or the one that’s not swollen and crusting with rainwater and blood is, hands held up in surrender when he’s finally on his back. His father gives a rough tug to his leg and he cries weakly, all the fight leaving his body. “Please? I’m sorry, I’m tryin’ to—“ 

“You think you can lead these men like this, Levi? Huh?” His father has him by the collar now and he yelps when his feet no longer touch the ground. “You think the other boys your age are this weak?” 

No, Levi doesn’t, and he hates that. 

“I’m sorry...” 

“I don’t want an apology! In a fight, apologies is meaningless. When yer boys are out there dyin’ cause you’re too damn stupid to shoot straight, apologies won’t mean shit.” His father shakes him and watches the way his son goes limp. “You know why I do this, don’t you?” 

“To make me stronger,” Levi whispers, coughing at the blood in his throat. His father drops him and he whines, trying to crawl away from the older man. 

“Would any of you listen to this?” 

The men around him laugh. Everyone laughs at Levi, don’t they? His stutter, his bad reading skills, his clumsy stature. His father wanted a strong son, a son who could take his place and lead the gang. The only way to prove that was to beat him in a fight, he said, and Levi had been losing for seven years now.

His father easily walks beside Levi, who’s struggling to drag himself with his arms, crying and wheezing and wondering when all the pain will cease. The elder Easton kneels and yanks his son back by his hair, and looks at his face, long and hard. 

“Get ready, Levi.” 

His brow scrunches up. 

“What...?”

 

“Easton!” Arthur kicks the bottom of his boot with the tip of his, causing the doctor to gasp and shoot up out of his sleep. He jerks just far enough forward to head-butt Arthur’s crotch. “Ow! Hey!” 

Levi is leaned back now, shaking and covered in sweat, hands gripping his bedroll hard enough to tear it. Arthur notices the kid has managed to scratch himself in his sleep, deep too, right along his scar. He was already pretty banged up from the scuffle with Micah, but this was noticeably new, and Arthur’s heart sunk. Why did he care so much? 

“Easton, your... your face...” 

Levi’s chest is heaving rapidly and he clutches his shirt weakly, hands convulsing so hard Arthur is sure it’s painful. It eats at him, and he wonders just what’s gotten the doctor so shaken up. He jumps when Levi practically smacks himself, jittery hands getting blood on them as he attempts to gauge the injury. Arthur weighs his options. 

He shrugs off his satchel and rifles, kneeling to shove his hands under Levi’s armpits. The boy flinches so hard he hits the table behind them and Arthur feels his stomach start to churn. He wasn’t an affectionate friend, not even to people he’d known for years, but something about the kicked puppy look Levi was sporting made him want to shoot anyone who gave the kid a second glance. He sighs at himself and gently lifts Levi onto his bed, kneeling to grab the doctor’s supplies. He pulls out a flask of whiskey and takes the liberty of closing the kid’s fingers around it and bringing it to his lips. 

“You okay?” Arthur asks gently. “You look like you seen a ghost.” 

“Feels like it,” Levi whispers hoarsely. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Arthur begins, but continues when he watches a wave of dread wash over the other man, “hey! S’okay, alright?” 

Arthur wipes the blood off with a cloth and pauses to make sure it’s clotting before he tosses it to the side. “Can y’still shoot straight?” 

Levi closes his eyes and shakes himself minutely. “Of course I can, Morgan.” 

They’re both quiet for a moment when Levi downs the rest of the flask and sighs shakily. He opens his eyes again and Arthur scans the marred flesh on his left side. It was too clean to be the result of an animal like John’s had been, thin and precise and painful. Deep, too. And Arthur knows now is anything but the right time to ask, but he can’t help himself. 

“Who did it to you?” he asks lowly, avoiding looking at Levi. He holds his breath until the other speaks. 

“My father,” the younger man answers, “when I was fourteen.” 

Arthur doesn’t push any further but he feels like throwing up. What kind of parent does that to their child? That much damage? 

Levi stands up on shaky legs and extends his hand to help Arthur up, though the larger man doesn’t particularly need it. He accepts anyway, and he doesn’t say anything when they don’t break apart immediately. He tells himself it’s because Levi is scared and young, looking so much like John used to that it scared Arthur. He feels guilty. 

“Why don’t you let people in?” 

Arthur pauses and scoffs, “Scuse me?” 

“I answered you, now answer me, Morgan,” Levi looked back over his shoulder, “why are you so defensive? Why can’t we be friends?” 

He grunts and frowns, “John is an idiot.” 

Levi’s eyebrows shoot up and he laughs, still shaking and uncertain, “this ain’t got a thing to do with John.” 

“Look, whatever he’s told you ‘bout me and him—“ 

Levi grabs Arthur by the shoulders now and gives him the most sincere look he can muster, “I don’t give a fuck what you and John done. Don’t concern me, Arthur. I’m just sick of this bullshit. One second you love me an’ treat me like your best friend an’ the next you’re implyin’ I wanna sleep with you.” 

“I don’t see why it’s so damn important for you to pester me, Levi,” Arthur hisses and the boy stops him when he tries to leave with a hand in his chest. 

“You called me Levi.” 

Arthur’s face heats up and he rolls his eyes, “ain’t that yer name? Goddamn.” 

Levi breaks out into a beaming smile and struggles to tone it down. Arthur grumbles and manages to get past him, telling him to hurry the hell up, so flustered he has to return to retrieve his weapons. Levi looks down at his hands, watching the way the tremors subside. 

He likes me. 

-.-.-.-

“I am not partnerin’ with him, Dutch!” 

Levi groans and rubs his brow. He looks up from his resting place on Beau and sees John and Arthur conversing lowly, far to the right of the others. John seemed conflicted, and Arthur looked downright pissed, but when John noticed Levi staring he simply smiled and winked, which made the doctor snort. 

“Dutch, I may never say this again, but I think I agree with Micah,” Levi admits. He spits near the man when he sees his smug look. “I don’t think it’s wise for us to work together.”

“I don’t trust him to have my back,” Micah elaborates, “he would let me die.” 

“As temptin’ as that sounds, it’s simply not somethin’ I find myself wantin’ to do,” Levi blinks innocently at Micah, “if I wanted you dead I woulda put rat poison in yer food. How was that coffee this mornin’, by the way?” 

Micah scowled and spurred his horse, making Levi snicker. Dutch frowned at him and shook his head, following after him. Levi wondered just what it was about Micah that made Dutch side with him so often. It had to be some hidden talent because, based on observation, Micah Bell seemed absolutely useless. 

It didn’t take long for John to shift his horse toward Levi, and before he could say anything, Lenny was riding close to his left and smiling at Levi. Javier once again winked from the other side of Lenny, tipping his hat while Levi fake fanned himself. 

“This’ll be the first time I get to see you in action, doc!” Lenny practically beams at Levi and it makes his heart soar. He’s a sweet kid. 

“It ain’t nothing to write home about,” Levi says cooly, before John cuts in. 

“He’s right, can’t shoot straight, shot me in the damn foot.” 

“Better than the head, Marston.” 

“How’s Charles, by the way?” Lenny asks quietly, and Levi’s mood drops substantially. 

“Stronger every day, but not quite lucid.... Eh, he’s, he knocked the shit outta me earlier, so—“ 

“Are you okay?” John asks, concern present in his voice as he looks directly at Levi. It makes the man’s cheeks flush as he diverts his gaze and coughs awkwardly. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just tired.” 

“You saved him, though,” Lenny cuts in, “ain’t that amazing, Javier?” 

“Oh yes,” he nods, “he’s good with his hands.” 

Levi snorts, but no one else seems to find the joke nearly as funny. 

“D’you think it’s alright to constantly flirt with men?” Lenny asks incredulously. 

Javier sighs flamboyantly, leaning back and grinning at John and Levi, “the forbidden fruit.” 

“You be Adam, I’ll be Eve,” Levi says, and this time John laughs too, shoving at Levi with a gentle hand. 

“Yer both ridiculous.” 

They carry on like that until they approach a cliffside; watching the train track like hawks, Dutch and Micah both on their bellies with a set of binoculars. They all dismount in record time, scrambling to shoo their horses back and crawl to the edge with their leader. Levi hangs back, watching the way Beau chitters nervously. He frowns. He’s had that horse since it was two years old, now twelve, and the animal was closer to Levi than anyone. There had to be a reason why he’s so tense, and Levi doesn’t feel too right either, not with the way this all looks too good. The dynamite is in position without hiccup, the train is coming, and everything is all too quiet. 

Arthur goes down to make sure things are running smoothly, and Levi takes his place, sandwiched between Lenny and Javier. He takes the binoculars when offered and tries hard not to linger oh Arthur’s form for too long. Did their last interaction affect anything? If it did, was it negative or positive? Why was Arthur Morgan so damn confusing?

He comes back up the hillside and they all wait in silent anticipation. Arthur squeezes in between Javier and Levi, presses flush against his right side and snatches the binoculars from his hands. Levi elbows him and when Arthur peeks over he frowns, holding a hand out for him to return them. Arthur’s face scrunches up. 

“Yer a child.” 

“You never learned how to share, Morgan, lemme look,” Levi makes a grab for them and Arthur easily holds them out of reach, shaking his head incredulously. 

“Look who ain’t sharin’ now,” he tuts. 

“Stop,” Dutch hisses and Levi doesn’t miss the smug look on Micah’s face. He waits until Dutch turns his head, whistling lowly at Micah, and sticking his tongue out at him. Arthur cuffs the back of his head. 

“This isn’t a game,” Arthur says and Levi nurses his wounded ego briefly, before they hear the tracks begin to rumble. “Here she comes.” 

They all wait and then—

Nothing. 

Between the curses Dutch is throwing out and the way Arthur is fervently insisting it’s not his fault, Levi finds his wits enough to mount Beau and call for the others as he, John, Javier, and Lenny lead the charge. Their horses pant as they try to keep pace with the train and Levi watches Javier leap and cling to the side of the train like a tree frog. His eyes go wide. 

“We’re doin’ that?” He yells incredulously. He doesn’t get to say another word, because Arthur has a fistful of his coat and jerks him off his horse, yelling, ‘now’ and Levi screams like a bitch in heat, ending up clutching to Arthur’s side instead of the train. The older man squirms as his hands clutch the top of the train. 

“Get off!” 

“How? You’s the damn idiot that jerked me offa my horse!” Levi screams, wrapping himself around Arthur like his life depends on it. 

“I can’t lift us both!” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure somethin’ out, cowb—“

Arthur grips Levi again and grumbles, managing to hoist him up and throw him one last time, directly onto the train’s roof with a loud thud. Arthur curses as he lifts himself now, snatching Levi and standing him up, muttering about how he’s loud enough to “wake the damn dead,” which Levi takes as a backhanded compliment. 

“What now?” He asks, looking back to see Lenny and Javier taking care of some guards. Arthur nudges Levi and takes off in the opposite direction. “Ya need to use yer words, Arthur Morgan!” 

Levi follows diligently, trying to ignore the way fatigue is inching in closer in the depths of his mind. He’d barely slept and been up two consecutive nights caring for Charles. That wasn’t the man’s fault though, and Levi was a doctor, he should be able to do that easy. He realizes, however, that getting your ass whipped takes a lot outta you. Couple that with his nightmare, and Levi felt like he could collapse at any given moment. 

They drop in between cars and Arthur kicks the door open like a damn bull, immediately aiming and taking out a few guards. Levi hates that the instincts his father taught him take over, he hates that he’s killed more recently than ever, and hates that it doesn’t bother him near as much as it should. Still, the men who cross his sights fall easily and Arthur seems almost impressed, until the train comes to a grinding halt without them touching a thing. They slowly look at each other and Levi chuckles nervously. 

“Maybe it was Dutch...?” 

They take off toward the front again, except this time they only make it to the next car, which is conveniently full of windows, before bullets bust the glass and whizz past their heads. They both drop to the floor immediately and Levi mourns his now blood soaked shirt. 

“I just fell in glass,” he whines, and Arthur scowls at him. 

“Shut up, kid.”

Before Levi can retort, there’s movement outside and more shots. A man’s voice bellows out, “we was here first, boys!” 

And Levi... Levi thinks he might actually throw up, right then and there, and he knows Arthur notices the way his face goes stark white and he begins to shake like a cornered rabbit. See, Levi would know that voice anywhere. Though he hadn’t heard it in years, it hadn’t changed much, only matured a bit more. 

“Wait!” Levi yells, and all movement outside ceases. He curses to himself. 

“Levi? Is that you?”

“...Yeah.”

“Well, come on out, brother!” 

Levi wants to scream, to correct him; they aren’t blood, they’re not really related, he was never his brother, not after what he’d done— but he didn’t. Instead, he stood and slowly made his way out, not giving Arthur a second glance. He hoped they didn’t know he was there, and he didn’t wanna give the man away. 

“Hello, James,” Levi manages weakly. The man is larger than when they were younger, but only in muscle mass. His hair is still a firey orange and he still wears his pants too tight. It’s a bittersweet moment, staring at someone who ruined your life. 

“We thought you’d finally bit the dust, brother, really we did,” James snickers low in his throat and Levi can feel it. He can feel the phantom hands roaming his body and the bile hanging in the back of his throat as he shakes himself free. 

“Not yet,” Levi jokes smoothly, “though I thought it was only in good taste to step out and warn y’all, ‘fore you made a mistake.” 

James glowers, green eyes piercing and more yellowed than before. It’s a shame the alcohol hadn’t killed him yet. He can’t look directly at him, a tick carried over from childhood, a fearful behavior he’d never get rid of. 

“You threatenin’ me, boy?” 

That word makes his skin crawl. James picked that up from their father (Levi’s father, he tells himself, James was a literal red-headed step-child) and it always set Levi’s brain into panic mode. He doesn’t show it, though, instead breathing in through his nose and sighing gently. 

“No, no. Jus’ wanted to give ya a fair chance. See, you’s got... Ten men, maybe? We got twenty-seven of the finest shots this side of Appalachia.” 

That was a bold faced lie, but James and his father always, always fell for Levi’s charms and cool nature. He hoped this one was convincing enough. Judging by the way James shifts in his saddle, it is. 

“You’re bluffin’.” 

“Okay,” Levi grins, forcing himself to meet his eyes, “then shoot me an’ see what happens.” 

A gunshot strikes out and makes Levi’s left ear ring and burn. He’s not sure what’s happened until he feels blood quickly traveling down his neck and staining his collar. James has a more than smug look on his face. 

“You fucking shot me!” Levi hisses, noticing the round, ragged rip in the very top of his left ear. He doesn’t think about how one inch further to the right coulda killed him, and instead fixes his eyes back on his brother’s figure. “They know better than to leap at the first shot, you idiot!” 

“You said, ‘shoot me,’” James grins so much like Levi and so much like his younger self that he wants to vomit. 

“Okay, do it again!” He dares, but he sees it. Sees the hesitation in James eyes. “I ain’t afraid of you.” 

That was the biggest lie he’d ever told. 

James steels himself for a second, turning to his men and muttering something before he readjusts again. Levi wants to collapse, wants to throw up and yell and throw a tantrum like a child. He wants Beth, wants Arthur and John and Javier all there to protect him. Wants Dutch to treat him like he does the other boys, replace all those hideous memories swelling in his skull.

There’s a pause. 

“Well.”

“Well?”

“Seems we’ll let this one slide.” Levi takes a deep breath. “I’ll be sure to tell pa we saw ya, Levi.” 

“Don’t,” he says weakly, but James doesn’t speak again, just turns and takes off with his men. 

Levi waits until he can barely see them before he calls out to the others and tells them all clear, still cupping his wounded ear. He prays no one asks, doesn’t notice the way Levi is shaking again, the way his eyes are unfocused and his breath is heavy and thick. It’s making him severely lightheaded and he doesn’t trust himself to walk 100% straight at this point either, but he doesn’t say anything until they’re all out of the train and staring at him curiously. 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Dutch says, “Beth never mentioned it.” 

“Reckon it might be cause she didn’t know, either,” he murmurs, trying to avoid the sad look everyone is giving him. 

“Your ear!” Lenny yells, running over and getting swatted away seconds later. 

“It’s fine,” Levi grumbles, but when he turns around to walk away, the world spins and the ground rushes up to meet him much faster than he’d like. He vaguely hears slight panic in John and Javier yelling at Dutch for something as he tries so hard to get back up. He manages to lift himself with his arms, about three inches from the ground, before they give out. 

“When’s the last time he had a full night’s sleep?” John asks, chewing the inside of his lip as Arthur gently hoists the delirious man up. Levi is mumbling incoherently and trying his best to support himself and failing. 

“He’s napped, y’know, like I tend to do. But I reckon his body ain’t built to deal with stress and beatin’s too well...” Arthur notices that Levi slots into place in front of him on the saddle almost perfectly. On his Ardennes, John does too, and he ignores the way his chest stings at the thought. 

Levi leans back into Arthur’s chest and his head falls onto Arthur’s right shoulder with a gentle thud. He breathing is shallow and labored, but in a moment of lucidity he informs them all he’s just tired, not dying, though anyone else mighta thought the latter if they saw him. Arthur knew dying men well enough though, and Levi Easton was not one of them. Just delirious from blood loss and fatigue. Thankfully, his ear was drying and clotting at a relatively quick pace. 

Arthur rode slower than the others, eventually losing sight of the group as he didn’t want to jar the kid too much. He almost kicks him out of the saddle when his head falls to the side and he nestles his face in Arthur’s neck. Levi hums contentedly. 

“Kid—“

“I think he broke me,” Levi murmurs, laughing low and choked, “he ain’t even my real brother, mind ya...” 

Arthur shuts up and lets the boy continue. 

“I like men, Arthur. Had sex with ‘em before and everything. I think it’s cause he messed me up. Broke me, I think.” 

Arthur feels like he knows where the conversation is going and tries his best not to get sick. 

“What’d he do to you, Levi?” 

“I was nine,” he whispers, hands gripping Arthur’s forearms where he was holding the reins. “I didn’t know...” 

“You ain’t done a damn thing, wrong, kid.” 

“My brother, Arthur,” he slurs, and his grip becomes almost painful. “He’s gotta be why.” 

“What did he do,” Arthur asks, and prays he’s wrong about the whole thing.

“Stuck his hands in my pants, and course, pa never believed it... Ha, can you believe that?” Levi sounds close to hysterical now and Arthur keeps his mouth shut, “I was terrified and when I tried to fix shit he beat me so bad I lost damn near every tooth I had!” 

His hands loosen up a bit and his body sags back. “I’m sick, ain’t I?” 

Arthur assumes Levi won’t remember a damn thing. “Me too.” 

Levi stills. 

“You ain’t...” 

“John, too, if that’s what we’re callin’ it. And I reckon you ain’t broken cause... Well, Levi, there ain’t been a man ever touch me without me instigatin’ it. It ain’t your fault.” Arthur wishes he could convince himself this easily. “It’s just somethin’ we’s born with...” 

Arthur feels something wet rolling down his collar bone, and realizes its tears when the boy’s shoulders weakly shake. He nuzzles further into Arthur and slowly but surely his movement subsides and his hands fall limp from their place. His chest is moving slowly and Arthur’s isn’t. 

The kid needs a damn friend, Arthur tells himself, and John was right. Levi is too stupid and too trusting. But Arthur vows, vows that he’ll be a good man. A good friend. He’ll find a way to solve this, whatever this is, with John and he’ll be there for Levi because he’s family now too. 

He’ll fix him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi and Arthur take Jack fishing and meet some lawmen who claim to know them both. With the realization that they’re both wanted men, some new feelings come to a head, and Arthur and Levi realize they must cope with unrequited attraction in different ways.

“Fishing!” 

It’s Jack’s high-pitched and eager voice that finally jerks Levi from his slumber, sluggish and apparently in Arthur’s bed and their empty tent. He wants to shove a pair of hot irons through his head to stop the throbbing and his left ear aches dully. He curses to himself and feels of the brown bandage covering it. Why’d it have to always be the left side? 

“Ask Uncle Levi, too! Please!”

He smiles to himself, chest warming at the thought of Jack wanting his company. 

“No, no, Levi ain’t feelin’ too good right now, Jack. He had a rough day yesterday.” 

Arthur’s voice is fond and low and it makes Levi hesitate. Yesterday? How long did he sleep? He needs a cup of coffee and a hot meal before he kills a man, but fishing with Jack and Arthur sounds like a worthy substitute. He’d rather have a full heart than stomach. 

“Oh, shut up, Morgan. I ain’t made of glass,” Levi grumbles as he walks out, wincing at the light burning through the trees. Jack beams up at him, holding a fishing pole and rocking back and forth on his heels. “Well, what’s this I heard about a fishing trip?” 

“Please!” Jack says excitedly and Levi grins over at Arthur, giving him a silent pair of pleading eyes. The man crumbles. 

“Fine, fine. Take yer own damn horse, though,” he mutters and Jack and Levi share a high five. Abigail watches them fondly from across the camp and looks at Levi with pity, though he’s not sure if it’s from his bedraggled state or not. 

They go to mount up and Jack hesitates. 

“I wanna ride with both of you...” he says quietly. Arthur keeps his patience, which Levi admires, and smiles gently at the boy. 

“You ride with Levi down and me back, how’s that sound?” 

Jack nods quickly and runs over to the doctor, giving up his fishing pole and outstretching his small arms. Levi easily lifts him one-handed, seating the boy in front of him as Arthur leads them down a path toward the river. Levi feels marginally better already, still slightly groggy and sore, but everything feels nice and peaceful for once. 

“Where’s John?” Levi asks Arthur, and Jack absentmindedly fiddle’s with the saddle horn. 

“Off runnin’ some errand for Dutch, I guess.” 

“Coulda sent Uncle,” Levi muses, which gets a snort in response. 

“Pa says Uncle has a disease called laziness,” Jack mutters innocently, wide eyes looking up just as Levi looks down to meet his gaze. 

“That’s true,” Levi nods, “your pa is very smart.” 

“I don’t think he likes me,” Jack blurts out, all unbothered childlike innocence and it makes Levi and Arthur stop talking for a moment. 

“It’s not that, it’s just...” Levi struggles for a moment, when Arthur saves him. 

“Yer daddy is an idiot, Jack. But he loves you.” 

The boy is quiet the rest of the way there and leans most of his weight back on Levi. It’s an odd feeling, to have a life so small under your care and guidance, even though Jack didn’t look up to Levi near as much as he did Arthur or John. Something deep in the back of his mind gnawed and gnashed its ugly teeth, saying that he’d never be a good father. He’d be just like his, he’d ruin a kid, and he would pay for it. Unlike his own father who was still alive and kicking, apparently, and it appears he was now aware that Levi was too. 

They stop near the edge of the creek and Levi once again hangs back, letting Jack waddle to Arthur with his tiny fishing pole and a determined look in his eyes. Levi smiles and folds his arms, leaning back against Beau to watch the pair with a soft gaze. Arthur would be a wonderful father, as gruff and moody as the old brute tried to be, and Levi wondered if he’d ever thought about it; did Arthur want a woman and a child and a warm homestead? 

Levi feels his heart sink as he looks down to his scuffed and gritty black boots. He would never have that, would he? He’d tried, so hard, to force himself to be normal and happy and a good man, tried so hard to find a nice girl who could turn his heart and make him a fine husband, but it just wouldn’t happen. He vaguely remembers outing that to Arthur in a semi-conscious state yesterday and he feels himself bristle with fear at his own stupidity. He doesn’t remember much else. 

“Levi!” 

“Easton, come be a man and show the boy how to catch a fish proper!” 

He looks up and feels his heart ache with want, pain and guilt mingling into a fuzzy feeling that filled his bones and lungs to the brim with love, love that he would never find a heart to burden with. Jack and Arthur were smiling, giving him this expectant and hopeful look, like a family receiving a member who’d been at war, and he wants to run straight to them and be a part of it. 

“Oh, no, fishin’ ain’t really my thing,” he chuckles, frown taking his smile’s place when he catches sight of Jack’s disappointed face. He sighs and looks at Arthur, who’s giving him these imploring eyes. 

Levi pushes off his horse and walks forward awkwardly, watching Jack’s mood do a 180 as he cheered and whooped, shoving his tiny pole into his hands. Levi holds the thing like it’s rotted, clasped strangely between two fingers as he desperately looks to Arthur for help. 

“You can use yer own pole, doc.” 

His face heats up and he looks down, “I ain’t got one.” 

“Well, how the hell have you ever—“ 

“I ain’t,” Levi says quietly, watching as Jack waddles away, suddenly very invested in the flowers near the bank and no so interested in the water anymore. “I... I was never taught.” 

Arthur’s eyes soften and he gently places his own, adult sized pole in Levi’s hands, setting Jack’s aside. He moves himself behind Levi, who’s very aware of how his pulse spikes in that moment, and gently positions his hands on the pole. 

“Now you gonna aim,” Arthur mutters, breath sending a shiver down Levi’s spine. He can practically hear the smile in the next words. “And when you draw back to cast, please don’t hit me, doll.” 

At the word Levi flounders, jerking his arms back to cast and promptly smacking the hard bamboo right down on Arthur’s skull. The man yelps and Levi drops the pole in shock, immediately spinning around to find Arthur about to piss himself laughing, doubled over and clutching his head. 

“Oh my god, Arthur, I’m so sorry!” 

“You might just be stupider than John!” 

Levi groans and holds his head in one hand, “now that’s a pushin’ it.” 

“Hey, look at this!” 

Jack’s voice breaks the tension and both men stare at each other for a moment, before walking over to the boy. Arthur kneels down and Levi puts his hands on his hips, smiling fondly when Jack lifts up a ring of red flowers. He can see the pride in the boy’s eyes and it makes Levi proud, too.

“At what?” Arthur asks. 

“This necklace I made!” 

Arthur’s smiling so wide Levi fears his cheeks might split, and a second later he thinks it’s such a good look on the man that he doesn’t mind. “Necklace?” 

“For momma!” 

Levi’s heart swells when he thinks of how much the boy loves Abigail. She’s all he’s got most of the time, and Levi heard Uncle and Bill bitching about how feminine she’d turned the boy more than once, but Levi paid no mind to it. Regardless of that, it was a perfect day, and Levi was certain absolutely nothing could ruin it. 

“Sure,” Levi smiles. 

“What a fine young man!” A voice calls, and Levi feels his blood run cold as two men ride up and dismount their horses. How the fuck had they not heard them? When Jack stands, Levi’s hand is on his head, nudging him protectively behind him. “And in such... complex circumstances.” 

Arthur steels his gaze and Levi can see the bitterness creeping into him little by little. He’s made his stance wider and more defensive, and Levi realizes that he’s protecting him too, not just Jack. He has little time to mull over it, before the man nods at him. 

“What a lovely little family you’ve got there. Arthur Morgan?” 

Levi feels his stomach drop and ache and his brain supplies him with every curse word he can think of in that moment, scrambling all rational thought in favor of panic. Arthur doesn’t waste a moment in responding and Levi mentally chastises him. His voice is gravelly and guarded and a dead giveaway. 

“Who’re you?” 

“Yes,” the man said smugly, “Arthur Morgan. Van der Linde’s most trusted associate.” 

Levi feels Jack’s hands clutch the back of his gray slacks and he discreetly ruffles the boy’s hair, thumb rubbing his temple gently. Arthur is quiet. 

“You’ve read the files, typical case,” the man motions to his partner and Levi reads the metal plated badge on his chest. Pinkerton Detective Agency. He feels his eyes widen when he realizes they’re head to head with lawmen. “Orphaned street kid seduced by that maniac’s silver tongue... and matures into a degenerate murderer.” 

Jack makes a small noise of fear and Levi readjusts, opening his fingers to let jack lay his tiny hand in his palm, squeezing as hard as he can with his limited strength. In a way, it grounds Levi, at least for the moment. He’s got something to protect now. 

“Agent Milton, Agent Ross. Pinkerton Detective Agency.” His face is self satisfied when he speaks again, nearing the trio. Levi’s gun is on his horse and too far to reach. If anything happened, he’d cover Jack as best he could with his body and pray for the best. “Seconded to the United States Government. Nice to finally meet.” 

Jack has his face peeking around Levi’s leg now, eyes wide and curious. He hopes the agents will spare him, if it comes down to it, give him to a wealthy family with a big home. He wonders if Jack would mourn him, if anyone but Beth would. 

“We know a lot about you.” 

“Do you?” Arthur questions, voice deadly and head tilted with false interest. 

“You’re a wanted man, Mr Morgan. There’s five-thousand dollars for your head alone.” The man’s smile widens, and his eyes focus on Levi who feels like a caged rabbit. “Ten for Mr Easton’s.” 

“His name is Tacitus,” Arthur lies, quickly diverting in a way Levi is thankful for. “Five-thousand dollars, you said? For me? ...Can I turn myself in?” 

“We want Van der Linde.” 

Levi thinks briefly, ‘doesn’t everyone in this godforsaken country?’ but keeps his mouth shut and makes sure that he’s guarding Jack. The little boy’s grip has never wavered. 

“Old Dutch? I haven’t seen him for months.” 

Levi turns his head to hide his scar, the one identifiable thing about him, and prays they don’t see it. 

“That so?” Milton questions, removing his hat to rub away at the sweat collecting on his forehead. Agent Ross’ eyes never leave Levi. “Because I heard a guy fitting his description robbed a train belonging to Leviticus Cornwall up near Granite Pass.” 

“That was the Vultures,” Levi says cooly, and the men stare at him for a moment. “Asked if I wanted in, said no, only way I know ‘bout it.” 

Milton smirks and motions toward Jack, “last time I saw you, Mr Easton, you were his size.” 

Arthur fumbles, chucking nervously, “oh, ain’t that a little... old-fashioned, nowadays?” 

The agents look at Levi. “Apparently not. Listen, this is my offer, Mr Morgan: bring in Van der Linde, and you have my word, you won’t swing.” 

Levi thinks he might be sick at the way Arthur’s hand twitches in response to that. Is he afraid? Jesus, if Arthur Morgan is afraid then Levi should be fucking petrified. 

“Oh, I ain’t gonna swing anyways Agent, um...” 

“Milton.” 

“You see, I haven’t done anything wrong, aside from not playing the games to your rules.” 

The agent roles his eyes. “Spare me the philosophy lesson, I’ve already heard it, from Mac Callander.” 

Levi watches Arthur shift his weight, and he tightens his hold on Jack’s hand. Agent Ross notices and smiles. 

“Mac Callander?” Arthur prods. A mistake, Levi thinks to himself, don’t show these men an ounce of weakness. 

“He was pretty shot up by the time I got to him, so really, it was... more of a mercy killing. Slow, but merciful.” 

Arthur drops his head and Levi can practically feel the storm brewing in him. He’s got a white knuckle grip on the fishing pole Levi had smacked him with earlier, but that seemed like a distant memory now. Something pleasant to remind him of another time, another life. 

He slams the pole down, making both Levi and Jack jump, Levi pulling him closer as he buries his head in his thigh. 

“You enjoy being a rich man’s toy, do ya?” 

“Arthur—“ Levi says weakly, cautiously raising a hand toward him but too afraid to touch. 

“I enjoy society,” Milton shoots back, ignoring Levi completely, “You people venerate savagery, and you will die, savagely!” 

Levi grits his teeth and keeps his hand up, ready to grab Arthur’s in case he decides to play cowboy and try to shoot the dumb bastards. 

“Oh, we’re all gonna die agent,” Arthur says coldly. 

“Some of us sooner than others!” 

Levi watches as the men back up a bit and he finally brings his hand down and laces his fingers with Arthur’s. It’s a bold and intimate move, but the man instantly relaxes and he doesn’t regret the motion at all. Jack moves up to hang onto their clasped hands, instead of just Levi’s, and Agent Ross gives them a disgusted look. 

“Good day, Mr Morgan, Mr Easton.” 

“Enjoy your daddies, kid,” Agent Ross snickers, “while you still can.” 

They wait until they’re gone and Levi still clings to the older man. “Arthur...” 

“How did he know you? And what the fuck are the Vultures?” 

“I don’t know how he knows me,” Levi says truthfully, “and the Vultures was what my brother always called our father’s gang. I guess it stuck well enough.” 

“Can we go home?” Jack asks, and Arthur finally turns around to face the two of them. Jack and Levi release his hand but theirs stay bound, and the doctor places his other on the kid’s head protectively. Arthur looks from Jack to Levi, staring in the man’s eyes for what feels like an eternity. 

“I think my horse can handle both of ya.” 

Jack ends up in front of Arthur and Levi is behind him, off the saddle, arms wrapped around Arthur’s midsection. He doesn’t know if Arthur knowing about him, about his conquests with men, if it makes this feel more intimate than it should or any damn different. He doesn’t particularly care either, and Arthur doesn’t seem to be concerned with much other than comforting the two who are very obviously shaken up. Levi admires the drive to protect his family.

 

Back at the camp, Levi is off his horse and putting Jack down before anyone has time to question why they’d taken one horse back when Beau was just fine, happily trotting along behind the trio and chittering about. He doesn’t miss Abigail’s “thank you!” and he also doesn’t answer, going straight for he and Arthur’s tent, where he flops his ass onto the bedroll and begins to cry. 

It’s a combination of a lot of things: stress, fear, fatigue, new feelings blooming in his chest that he doesn’t want to be there, ones that make him want to reach out and grab Arthur’s hand again. But Arthur is out there, with the others, being his kind and jovial self because Levi is not special, he makes that clear to himself, he’s not special and Arthur Morgan would have nothing to do with a man, especially one with a past as filthy and muddy as Levi’s. 

He doesn’t notice the tent flap open. 

When the bed beside him dips, he expects Arthur’s gruff voice, not a soft, feminine hand on his arm. He weeps even harder when he sees Beth’s concerned face, grabbing onto her like a scared and lost child. 

“Jack says you and Arthur protected him, and that you let him hold your hand when stuff got scary.” 

Levi doesn’t say anything, just sniffles and lays his head across her lap. His body is uncomfortably contorted from his position on the ground, but he doesn’t mind, and doesn’t say a word when Beth undoes his tight braid, rubbing her fingers deeply into his scalp. He almost moans in relief from tons of tension he never knew he had. 

“Your daddy’s gang has had tons of run ins with Pinkertons, even I know that. You were so little when you left that gang, though, darlin’. It’s okay to be scared about things you was brought up to fear.” Her voice is all-knowing and gentle. Beth knew about the gang he’d came from well, though James was a well-kept secret until yesterday, and she didn’t seem too upset with him for not sharing. “It’s okay to be scared. You did good.” 

“My bounty is ten-thousand,” he says weakly, eyes looking up, “what did he make me do, Beth? What did he make me do?” 

She swallows gently, brushing a few stray hairs from his eyes, “I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know.” 

 

-.-.-.-

 

“He held your hand?” Hosea asked quietly, watching the way Arthur angrily brought his axe down on the wood beneath it. There was definitely something unresolved and pent up in that man. “Why, what’s so wrong with that, Arthur?” 

“He’s a man,” he hisses, eyes never leaving the log he’s about to ravish. Hosea rolls his. 

“What’s so inherently romantic about holding hands?” Hosea asks, watching the way Arthur’s brow knots and his jaw locks. He sighs slowly, raising his legs to rest against a stump as he thinks of his younger days. He remembers a time when Dutch struggled the same way. 

Like father like son. 

“We’re men, Hosea, it’s disgu—“ 

“Oh, shut your mouth, Arthur Morgan! I know I raised you better than to be a rude, judgmental little rat.” Hosea moves and stands, coming over to clap Arthur on the back, “you and I both know it’s hell to deny biology.” 

“But the bible—“ 

“Is a book written by men interpreting words of which they themselves did not speak, Arthur.” 

The younger man pauses and Hosea can see a flood of conflict swimming behind those eyes. 

“It is not wrong,” Hosea says again, quieter this time, “though the world may scream to you that it is. There are plenty of happy pairs of husbands and content pairs of wives. All living and breathing and not hanging, all alive and bathing under God’s good sun, making an honest living and loving each other and it don’t upset the deity one bit, you hear?” 

“John and I, we...” 

“Are the dumbest pair of kids I’ve ever reared,” Hosea scoffs, “pining and pining and pining. Tell me, does it ever get tiring looking so melancholy when you’re near each other?” 

“I’m older, I should know better, I—“

“Have done nothing wrong,” the older man reasserts. “Tell me, Arthur, have I ever lied to you?” 

“No,” he grumbles, “no, you ain’t.” 

“Then listen good when I tell you this: follow your damn heart. To hell with everyone else!” Hosea’s eyes drift to the left, saddening a bit when he sees Dutch and Molly locked into an embrace. “Life is far too short to never hold the one you love.” 

“I think...” Arthur looks back toward his tent and sighs, “I’ve been with other men before, Hosea. Liked it just the same, but it was never John. And now Levi is here, and goddamnit I’m so confused. He’s beautiful, Hosea. He’s so fuckin’ pretty that it makes my head spin and I hate it. It makes me so angry that I could smash the damn boy against a tree and—“

Hosea scoffs, “and what?” 

“—and kiss him silly!” 

Hosea groans, “then do it, you idiot!” 

“I barely know the kid,” Arthur huffs, slamming his axe down again, “wouldn’t be kosher.” 

“You’ve kissed women after one drink and a wave ‘hello,’ Arthur.” 

“This is different though, Hosea. Seein’ him out there today, seein’ the way he cared for that boy and just feeling the way he held my hand like I was the only thing he’d ever thought about touching... I just feel so guilty, like I’m gonna break his heart for nothin’.” 

Hosea is still looking at Dutch and his woman, eyes sad and distant, “then don’t.” 

Arthur still feels no resolution.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang kicks up trouble in Valentine as their time at Horshoe Overlook comes to a close. Levi opens up to Charles and finds a kindred spirit in a young boy. Arthur is far more open than he intends to be.

Levi has little time to spend on much more than caring for others in the camp. Arthur rides out more often, doing errands for Strauss and the others like he’s the only damn man in camp, and honestly, Levi is far past the point of being irritated. Charles is up now, and he’s woven a string of beads into a single strand of Levi’s hair as repayment for his services. It’s a kindness the doctor rarely finds in others that makes itself home in Charles’ eyes, and Levi also finds good company in the man, honing his bow hunting skills and even learning some new tricks with his hunting knife. 

In Arthur’s absence, Levi also begins to take over daily chores like chopping wood, running out for supplies, and even making time to entertain Jack. The two men don’t see much of each other, until Dutch calls them both into his tent one night. He has a serious look on his face and Hosea and Beth are sat behind him, quarreling quietly about something. 

“Micah is in some trouble,” Dutch says cooly, and Levi thinks he might shove Arthur’s rifle under his chin right then and there. “And I need you two to deal with it.” 

“Oh, Dutch, both of us? Arthur smells.” 

“Very funny,” Arthur mumbles, rolling his eyes. Dutch is busy imploring them to go, saying something about a duty and a loyalty that the boys are sorely lacking in. Levi tunes him out as they leave the tent. “Look, I ain’t too happy about gettin’ Micah’s ass outta jail either, but Dutch seems to think he’s worth it.” 

“He’s a shitty fighter,” Levi gripes, spitting to his left as he and Arthur make their way toward their horses. They mount and begin a decent pace, neither in a particular hurry. 

“Yeah? What’s that say about you, then?” 

Levi huffs, face red, “well, I never said I was a brawler, Arthur.” 

“Course not,” the man smiles, laughing lightly, “wouldn’t wanna get your hair dirty.” 

“Shut up! I can shoot just as good as any of us, and I recall saving your ass twice now!” 

“You call that warning shot at the O’Driscoll place ‘saving my life?’ “

“Well... Only internally, yes,” Levi says, voice quiet and contemplative. “Somethin’ jus’ don’t feel right about Micah Bell. And he ain’t got a damn talent, save for bein’ a right prick.” 

“What’s that make me, then, Levi?” 

The boy snickers, “a wrong prick.” 

“Y’know, if gunslingin’ don’t work out, maybe you can tell jokes in a saloon and pray someone throws you a dollar.”

“That is the dream, Tacitus!” Levi yells exaggeratively, beaming at the other man. “In spite of the nature of this outin’, I do rather enjoy spendin’ time with you, Arthur. You’re a good friend.”

Arthur’s heart warms so quickly he fears his soul will burst. 

“I do my best.” He shrugs, “and it’s Mr Tacitus to you.”

They carry on with their banter for a bit, riding into Strawberry sometime near noon. Levi makes the decision to go shoot the shit with the sheriff and try to buy Arthur some time to assess the situation. Levi’s never been much of a talker but he does okay, asking if the local doctor is looking for an apprentice and eagerly responding to all the sheriff’s questions about a rather unusual lump in an unsavory place. A glorious job, truly. 

He’s halfway through explaining the logistics of safely removing or draining a cyst when a bang sounds outside and he curses to himself. Before he can draw his gun, there’s one at his temple. “Hey, now, sheriff! I’m jus’ a doctor, honest, lookin’ for work! Why... why you pointin’ that at me? Did— did I do somethin’ wrong?” 

The man hesitates at Levi’s earnest and childlike eyes, steadily beginning to lower his gun. When more shots are fired outside and he turns around, Levi takes the opportunity to bust the bottle of whiskey he’d been sipping over his head. He grunts and almost slips on the now slick hardwood floors, scrambling to throw the door open as a bullet buries itself in the wooden frame beside him. 

“Goddamn. Arthur! Hey!” 

Levi panics as he realizes that he’s utterly alone. 

He goes to stand and yells as a man leaps on him, knocking them both off the porch as he drives Levi’s face into the dirt like it’s the best thing he’s ever done. He tries so hard to kick, to hit, grasp at something and he feels the bones in his jaw creaking and he’s terrified they’re going to snap. 

Then, all at once, the pressure releases and the man slumps to the side. 

“Arthur!” Levi grins at the other man, jumping up to follow after him and Micah. “You came back!” 

“Couldn’t leave my best guy behind, could I?” 

Levi smiles happily and watches the way Micah stares at the pair as they take cover. Arthur’s mood quickly begins to sour when he gets nicked in the arm by flying wood splinters and he absolutely refuses to let Levi do anything about it. Levi mutters something akin to “stubborn, hardass cowboy,” which gets him cuffed in the back of the head. 

“Micah, who the hell did you piss off?” Levi hisses, rubbing his head and glaring holes in the back of Arthur’s. His eyes widen as bodies fall, one by one, all taken by bullets from Arthur’s gun. He swallows slowly, looking up at the brute of a man, gently placing a hand on his thigh. “Easy, Arthur. Easy.” 

“Wasn’t my fault!” Micah cries, spouting off some bullshit about a housecall, which gets a groan out of both Arthur and Levi as they realize soon enough that Micah Bell had massacred an entire town, and all for a gun. 

“He murdered that woman,” Levi says slowly as Micah leaves the house with his prized possessions, “Arthur, he—“

“Come on, cowpoke! Pretty lady! Let’s ride!”

Levi grimaces at the nickname and whistles quickly, not even giving Beau time to slow down before he mounts him, and he grabs Arthur by the arm when he realizes he hasn’t called for his own mount yet. It’s hard, very damn hard, for Levi Easton to get that man on the back of his horse, but he does it, even though Arthur is spitting curses like it’s his goddamn job. Beau doesn’t seem too particularly bothered by the extra weight and flies through the tree line after Micah’s horse, which Levi briefly thinks about shooting in the foot to topple him, but he doesn’t want the animal to suffer for Micah’s idiocy. 

 

-.-.-.-

 

“Lotta stuff going sour,” Charles sighs, leaning forward on his fist. Levi bristles when the bartender gives the man a disgusted look. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods numbly, “Micah damn near got Arthur and I killed.” 

“I am very sorry,” Charles said quietly, swishing his cup of whiskey gently, “I would have went in your stead, but...” 

“Dutch told me to, Charles, not you. Don’t fret so much over it.” Levi snickers briefly as he tosses his shot back with an exaggerated grimace thereafter, “you gon’ get wrinkles if you keep scrunching your nose up at me like that.” 

Charles smiles a genuine smile and Levi does too, jokingly making a grab for the other man’s whiskey. It’s a nice break, one Levi wished Arthur was here to enjoy with them, especially after the incident two days prior. The gunslinger fought Levi tooth and nail to let him clean up his superficial wounds, but the doctor was far more stubborn than he anticipated, and ultimately the latter won out. 

“Hey,” a gruff voice suddenly grunts behind him, “you an Indian lover?” 

Levi once again grits his teeth, spinning on his barstool. Charles turns much slower. Levi knows it’s better for him to stand up to the man, seeing as he has far less to lose. He could easily let it slide, or laugh along, but something about the way the man says the word ‘Indian’ with so much venom sets him off. 

“I suggest you forget I heard you ask me that, friend. Now go on,” Levi shoos him with his hand flippantly, glowering at his face, only to have it grabbed in a vice grip. He slips off the stool and onto his feet with a startled grunt, scowling at the man who’s currently breaking every damn bone in his right hand. “Let me go!” 

“You got the same hair as them and everything!” He tugs on Levi by the braid, hard enough that he’s painfully aware of several hairs ripping from his scalp. Another man reached forward to jerk on the string of beads hanging near the right edge of his face with disgust. He yelps and grabs the man’s hand with his own, trying to pry it away from his hair desperately. 

“Let him go,” Charles levels, drawing his pistol and pointing it square between the man’s eyes. 

“He wants to be a savage so bad, we’ll treat him like one!” 

The assailant’s friends whoop and holler and one has Charles’ gun out of his hands before either man can blink. Levi curses the bartender and other patrons who completely turn a blind eye, feeling a fire setting in his gut as he sees the carefully disguised fear in Charles’ kind eyes. Levi’s hands are unbound but Charles is not so lucky and they both cry out when they’re tossed onto the muddy street like trash. 

“You best hope I can’t fucking get back up,” Levi booms, grabbing his pistol, “fucking pieces of horse shit.” 

Charles looks at him with wide eyes and Levi takes a deep breath as he stands. 

It feels like everything around him slows, if only for a moment, his mind hazed and yellowed and his hand moving on its own accord, firing three shots into the three respective men advancing on them as the screams of the saloon patrons dance muted in his ears. And, just as soon as it had come, it’s over, and Levi gasps, pain piercing his right eye and skull which both feel as though they could split at any moment. 

“You did it,” Charles praises as Levi cuts him loose, “you’re—“ 

“I’m fine,” Levi huffs, dragging the other up as they bolt off toward the tree line. “I’ve run enough in the past two days to last a goddamn lifetime.” 

 

The two pace around an open field on their horses, buying time until it’s safe to return to camp without being followed. Levi keeps his eyes down and on his horse, mumbling to himself like a bitter and senile old hag as Charles watches. He mimics Levi’s pace and position, drawing in beside him with a pensive look. 

“Why do you favor us?” 

“What? Natives?” Levi asks, continuing upon his companion’s nod. “Oh, uh. Well, my mother grew up on a Cherokee reserve down in Kentucky. Least, that’s what my dad told me. That’s around where I was born, too. If it weren’t for them, my father said me and my momma woulda both been dead. She got separated from my father when she went into labor, a bunch of drunk soldiers haggling her. A different tribe than the one that raised her found her, saved her life, got her through the birth.” 

Charles nods silently and prompts Levi to continue, who does so with a wet cough. “Uh. But my mother was killed when we came West. Caught in the crossfire between some Lakota people and soldiers. My father blamed the Natives, I never did, course I don’t remember none of it. Still, I reckon the soldiers shot first on unarmed women and children and the Lakota retaliated. Ma was jus’ in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Charles says quietly, “it must have been hard growing up without a mother.” 

“Never really had a father either,” Levi chuckles, “nah, not. Not really. He went sorta crazy after ma passed, so I’m told. Started hitting me soon as I could walk and forcing me to fight him around when I turned seven. Had some deluded ideas that he was some grandeur king of our little gang and I was some prince he needed to make worthy.” 

Charles keeps his face down for a few minutes, mulling over the information in his head. “Were you ever given a Cherokee name?” 

“Degotoga,” Levi laughs, “means ‘to be loyal’ or ‘supportive’ and ‘to be together.’ Y’know, all that good stuff. My father told me it was cause they hoped a full white child born on a reservation would spark some peace talks. Never did, though.” He looks down and sighs, “Charles... do you ever feel like you’ve got to choose between your cultures? To be Native or to be African...?”

“Sometimes,” he nods, “though it’s not that simple. I am not only African or Native at any given time. Both cultures are a part of me, of who I am, and I’m grateful to be privy to them.” 

Levi smiles lightly. “Fuck those racist bastards back there, yeah? You’re a damn good man, I don’t see why any of it matters.” 

“Lucky for you, you don’t have to see why it does. No matter how you were raised, you’ve still got skin the color of the moon and a stubborn spirit. You will never be shunned from your fellow man for that.” 

Levi looks down sadly again, brow furrowed in concentration. “But you will.” 

“That’s not the concern of a white man.” 

“But it should be, Charles!” He flounders desperately, passion overwhelming his chest. Charles finds it somewhat endearing. “Injustice should be every man’s problem, no matter what damn color they are. Not carin’ and bein’ complacent is jus’ as bad as doin’, if you ask me.” 

“How so?”

“You saw them folk back in the saloon. They didn’t help ‘em hassle us but they sure as hell didn’t put an end to it, and I reckon that’s just as bad.” 

“...Hm.” Charles is impressed. “Perhaps you’re right, Degotoga.” 

Levi grins, rolling his eyes, “come on, now. It’s just Levi. Don’t feel right taking a Native name when I’m, yknow. White.” 

Charles laughs, “yes, well, you sure aren’t going to confuse anyone with that. You look paler than a dead man.” 

Levi huffs indignantly, spurring his horse to keep pace with Charles’ as they finally head back toward the camp. He blames his loose tongue on the liquor and briefly wonders if Charles will go off spouting his pathetically tragic past. He watches the man from a far and shakes his head minutely; Charles was a good man, a good man that is far beyond spreading petty tales. 

-.-.-.-

It’s a sunny morning when Levi rides into Valentine with Arthur, who’s going on about getting his cattleman engraved, when they hear a rather loud and obvious commotion in the town’s main road. Levi feels his stomach drop when they get closer and he doesn’t miss the way Arthur tenses up either. 

Two boys are being drug apart, kicking and screaming, by a preacher and the sheriff. Levi already had to pay off a bounty over the stunt at the saloon with Charles and he knew people in this town didn’t care much for him, but when he heard them calling the boys sodomites and sinners his heart hurt. They couldn’t be older than fifteen, wide eyed and terrified as they were jerked apart and brutalized, all for something so trivial, and Arthur tried to grab for Levi but he was already halfway through the crowd by then. He followed. 

“We cannot tolerate this sin!” The younger of the two boys was gripped tightly by the preacher, who laid a shockingly gentle hand on his head. “Your father has prayed for your salvation!” 

“Put your bandana up,” Levi whispers to Arthur, who complies, somewhat shocked by the hard glint he sees in the other man’s gaze. 

The older boy has a hand around his neck and Levi stumbles back when the man presses the tip of a gun into the kid’s temple. He quickly grabs Arthur’s hand, who steps closer and hides the action between them. He wasn’t going to deny Levi something as simple as comfort right then. 

“We will not tolerate it,” the sheriff repeats, and Levi screams when the shot goes off. 

The younger boy is wailing now, kicking and screaming and trying so desperately to return to his lover’s body. The preacher is spouting some evangelical nonsense but Levi can’t hear it over the roar of his blood in his ears. Arthur looks over and sees his friend’s hand at his mouth, cupping it through the bandana as if he’s about to throw up. He knows it’s not like Levi hasn’t ever seen a man get shot, he’s shot them himself, it’s just the nature of this one. It seems to disturb most folk around them, but for all the wrong reasons, agreeing that the boys are sinners and acting as though it was a mercy killing to save the town. 

“We have to save him,” Levi says, looking at Arthur with desperation that makes his chest burn, “please, Arthur, please— they’ll beat him half to death and force him into a church somewhere.” 

The preacher and the sheriff’s bodies fall in tandem. 

Levi wastes no time rushing forward to grab the stunned young man, who’s now gnashing his teeth and fighting like a damn bear. Actually, with his size, Levi likens it more to a raccoon, vicious and small and terrified. Levi doesn’t explain anything, just throwing the kid over his shoulder and rushing toward his horse with Arthur. 

“Let me go!” He squirms until Levi drops him on his ass. 

“Look, kid, it’s either this or the fuckin’ gallows,” Levi yells, and the boy gives them both a fearful look. 

“Okay.” 

Levi mounts and hoists the kid up as people begin shooting and he feels the boy wrap his arms around him in terror. Levi spurs Beau and praises the horse as he bursts to life with action, all the while checking his side to make sure Arthur is following suit. He keeps himself steady and doesn’t shoot any of their pursuers, evading then cooly and keeping the boy away from any stray bullets. 

“They killed him,” the boy says quickly, “oh, god, are you gonna kill me, too?”

“No,” Levi says quietly, slowing Beau as they near a fairly secluded clearing. Arthur wordlessly dismounts to set up camp and Levi thinks in that moment that the man looks more beautiful than any person he’s ever seen. He keeps giving Levi concerned, genuine glances that set his heart into a breakneck pace. Levi doesn’t regret a thing. “No, darlin’, I wanted to get you away from those bastards.” 

“We was just holdin’ hands,” the boy says weakly, “I thought we was hidin’ good... and my pa... oh, Jesus, my pa...” 

Levi dismounts and gently helps the kid down, not letting go of him until they both sit around the fire. “Your pa is the one who sent that preacher after you, apparently.” 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whines, shoving his palms into his eyes, “I don’t know why I can’t just find a nice girl. I’m tryin’ real hard, but my head won’t let me even look at ‘em that way.” 

Levi remembers a turmoil in himself around the same age. It still hadn’t resolved. “What’s your name, son?” 

“Alfred, but... People call me Alfie.” 

“I’m Levi, and this is Arthur,” he says gently, laying a calming hand on his shoulder, “you’re safe now, alright?” 

It takes a good two hours before the kid is tired enough to finally fall asleep, and Levi has to swear on his mother’s life that he won’t make him go back to his father before he will; he doesn’t have the heart to tell Alfie his mother died long ago. Arthur doesn’t say anything during the whole exchange and Levi knows it makes the kid jittery, because Arthur is big and somewhat terrifying, but Levi knows his heart is in the right place. 

“We can’t take another mouth to feed back to camp. We just got used to havin’ Kieran, and I gotta meet Javier about gettin’ Sean back.” 

“Arthur, I swore I wouldn’t make him go back,” Levi implores, lowering his voice when the small body to his right shifts. “I won’t sent a kid back to his death.” 

“Dutch will kill me and you both, especially after that ruckus you kicked up in Valentine.” 

“Me? You’re the one who shot them!”

“Only— only cause you gave me those goddamn doe eyes, Easton!” 

Levi pauses, face flushing as he scrambles to formulate a response, “what the— what’s— what’s so distracting about my eyes? I only got one that works!” 

“And you were holding my damn hand,” Arthur continues, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stands, quickly kicking a rock near them. “My damn hand, Levi.” 

“Well it won’t happen again.” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” 

They both go quiet, Levi watching the way Arthur’s shoulders tense and his hands begin to tighten and then loosen, clasping and unclamping themselves in a nervous tick. The crickets and the boy’s snoring drive Levi’s brows to furrow. Tension this thick could be cut and served to a whole room of guests and Levi didn’t like it, not one bit.

“You don’t remember a goddamn thing you said to me on that ride back from the train, do you?”

“Am I supposed to...?” 

Arthur’s shoulders slump and he sighs, peeking back. He averts his gaze when he finds Levi’s on him, sitting finally and laying down, back toward the other two. “No. Wasn’t important.” 

 

The next morning, they have to weigh their options seriously. Levi, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, knows that Dutch is right in not letting anymore strays wonder in. He looks down and tries to think of the best course of action. He’s fighting a battle within himself and he’s losing, hard, floating facedown in a pool of his own self hatred. 

“You promised!” The kid cries, eyes wide and teary and Levi wants to throw up. Arthur doesn’t say anything. 

“I know, but it’s safer for you to go back now. Tell your father we took you and robbed you— and you saw the error of your ways when we almost killed you. Tell him you like girls and ride a nice one who’s real understandin’ till you’re a little older. Then leave.” 

“You swore on your momma!” 

Arthur grimaces as the sour look that crosses Levi’s face, “she’s dead, kid. Now do as a I say! Head back, straight this way, and you’ll hit Valentine. Tell your daddy what I said and don’t mess with another man till you’re far away from here, you got it?” 

“But— I cant deny myself like that! I know I’m sick, sir, I know somethin’ ain’t right but I can’t help it and I won’t try to!” 

Levi feels something welling up and bubbling within him. 

“Then you’ll die.” 

“But you promised!” 

Levi grits his teeth now, pulling out his gun and firing a warning shot. Alfie scrambles back and yells, giving the pair one last look before he books it in the direction Levi had told him to. 

“Coulda been... gentler,” Arthur murmurs. 

“I’m not in the mood, Morgan.” 

“You never are,” Arthur sighs, “I’m sorry we couldn’t take him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Levi finally cedes, holstering his gun as they mount their horses, “I ain’t the kind of man that needs to play father, anyway.” 

Arthur doesn’t reply and Levi doesn’t speak the whole way to the camp.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi faces his father, finally, and it all comes to a head. And it’s over as quickly as it’s come, and he’s tired, so tired. They’ll have to recover somehow.

Matthias Easton was a brutal man. 

He’d insisted, from the time that Levi was a toddler, that he wasn’t his flesh and blood. Maria Easton had black hair like her husband, so why was it that Levi would come out with shiny white locks that seemed to frame an uncharacteristically soft and angelic face? It wasn’t until he was five years old that Matthias ceded, noting that the boy had his nose and even his eyes, brighter and clearer than the deepest of streams, and his smile which had the ability to con a man out of his very home. 

When James was found, long after Maria passed, Levi burned with jealousy for his new brother, even Matthias recognized that. James was a strong fighter, older, smarter. Levi had a wicked stutter and a foul mouth, but he could shoot like a grown man with thirty years experience. If the boy could see it, he could make it fall with a careful tip of his twenty-two and Matthias feared that would be a crutch. James, much to their father’s delight, stomped out the flame in the boy little by little. He got quieter, more obedient, the only problem was that it worked a little too well. 

The day his son tearily begged to die, tried to put a gun to his head, told him to keep James away from him and make him stop touching him, Matthias had been furious. He’d grabbed Levi and screamed until he’d gone hoarse, embarrassed by the fact that the boy was so weak and small. He hit him for the first time that night, and he didn’t stop until the boy couldn’t move. He didn’t need a damsel, he needed a successor. 

Levi aided in gang activities and he flourished when didn’t have to speak and only had to shoot, but again, Matthias feared for the kind of dependence the boy was forming. He started forcing him to fight, take a beating; humiliate him and show him how to be a man for once, though he didn’t figure it ever stuck. Not even on the night the boy ran away, when Matthias had crippled him, taking away that keen sight and beating the kid so bad he wouldn’t be able to drag himself to a doctor fast enough. 

Matthias told himself it was a mercy killing, that Levi was a lame horse, and James would be able to take over the gang when he passed, even though he was not the heir by blood. Levi was weak and wouldn’t have lasted, probably killed and dragged away by coyotes, tragic, but Matthias forced himself not to mourn the death of a weak link. This was better for the gang, better for himself, and better for Levi to die than suffer. 

So when James rode into camp with a frazzled look and set his glare hard on Matthias’ tent, he didn’t expect half of what he was told. 

“Levi is alive.” 

“That’s impossible,” Matthias had laughed, “I killed him.” 

“He’s a Van der Linde gun, Matthias, he’s back in the game.” 

Matthias bristled when he heard that. Honorable Dutch Van der Linde, rescuing strays and seducing women with his silver tipped tongue, had stolen his son. He had hoped that if Levi had lived, he would have returned, strong and ready to assume control. He didn’t expect the insolent child to betray him, to spit in his face. 

“Find them!” 

 

The next few weeks continued with James watching the neighboring gang with a group of scouts, never engaging and striving to never be seen. They were good at that, making themselves look like nothing more than circling buzzards waiting to claim roadkill that was unfortunate enough to die near them. James was very helpful and forthcoming with what he’d seen. 

“He’s attached to two men in particular. Arthur Morgan and John Marston. There’s a kid too, the Marston’s little bastard. They call themselves a family.” 

“What about our family,” Matthias hissed, clutching the side of a table with fury, “what about loyalty?” 

“He says he’s a doctor, even sleeps with one of those men in the same tent. Reckon he’s the camp cocksucker.” 

Matthias flipped the table he’d been holding onto, spilling its contents onto the ground and dumping a few other men off as well. They quickly scurried away from their enraged leader, who pointed a fierce finger in James’ direction, voice dripping and heavy with venom. 

“Bring me Morgan and Marston.” He spins around to stalk back to his tent, pausing. “Get the brat, too.” 

James nods, even though Matthias can’t see him, and rounds up a crew of twelve men. 

-.-.-.-

“Shopping?” Levi whines, dragging his feet behind Beth as she tugs him by his arm with some fervor. 

“Yes! We haven’t spent a damn bit a time together since we got here, an’ Pearson is gonna pitch a fit if we don’t get some goddamn canned peaches.” 

Levi grumbled, shrugging out of her grip with a minute mumble of words. “Well. Take Arthur or John, too, at least. I fear for my life when you get testy with me, woman.” 

“Can’t, they heard some O’Driscolls were in the area,” Beth blinked sweetly at him, “gotcha all alone now, Levi!” 

He looked to his side to see Abigail and Jack leaving their tent. She was dressed nicer than usual, and Jack was on her hip, babbling happily. He smiled at the pair and waved, getting an enthusiastic, “bye uncle Levi!” from them both. It was endearing, and Levi was rather fond of Abigail as well and admired her ability to put up with John Marston as long as she had. 

“Fine. Why don’t we take Abigail and Jack too, at least? They look dressed to go to town.” 

Beth nods quickly, motioning them over. “Need a ride to Valentine?” 

“Yes!” Jack squeals, giggling when Levi swings him onto his saddle with one arm, grunting and telling the boy that he’s getting so big and grown that it’s hard to lift him anymore. Jack giggles at him. “You’re just old, uncle Levi.” 

Beth and Abigail both laugh as they start toward the town, Levi grunting and telling Jack that he’s still a, “god— god darned spring chicken.” 

Jack eagerly asks Levi to ride faster and he complies, doing some skid stops on Beau and letting the horse rear back, which gets exuberant squeals of delight from the little boy and scolding from both the women behind him. He tries to slow down so that they all calm and don’t flog him as soon as he dismounts, and he needs to keep a steady pace anyway, since they’re nearing the town. 

Abigail and Jack get off near the stock auction and Beth and Levi continue on toward the general store. Beth goes in and spouts off a list so long that Levi struggles to hold everything in his arms at the same time, deciding its more productive to grab something and lay it out on the counter for the shopkeeper than even attempt the task. All in all, it takes about an hour to get the whole ordeal over with, and Beth compromises by accompanying Levi to the gunsmith afterward. He has two rifles, one scoped and the other not. 

He proudly lays his Carcano Rifle up on the counter, getting the weapon carved and engraved. Beth notices that on this rifle, the wood is stained a dark and deep brown; the engravings are gold to contrast the black gun metal, and there’s a wolf on the stock. She doesn’t miss the way his fingers linger there in awe. His bolt action rifle is a bright nickel metal, with black engravings and a light colored wood. This one sports a buck carving, and Levi’s hand stays there fondly too, before he shoulders them both and pays the gunsmith handsomely, beaming ear to ear when they exit. 

“I reckoned you’d have got a skull or somethin’; maybe flowers... flowers seems more your style,” Beth chuckles. 

Levi shrugs and mounts his horse in time with Beth, holstering the bolt action rifle and keeping the Carcano around him. His left hand rests on the butt of the other rifle and Beth snorts. 

“What?” 

“You’re sentimental over fuckin’ guns.” 

“They mean somethin’ to me, Beth!” he whines, huffing and turning his head away from her. His beads clack together lightly. “They’re for... Important people.” 

She feels herself smile gently, clicking her tongue to urge her horse forward. “Who, darlin’? We’ve barely talked about anythin’ serious in a long time.” 

Levi sighs to himself, wiggling his hand a bit. “It’s just— Well... The, the stag is for Arthur and the wolf is for John.” 

Beth nods. “I see the three of you together sometimes. You always seem so happy.” 

“Yeah,” Levi grins, smile dropping slowly, “yeah, I’m jus’... Confused.” 

“Levi, you know it’s okay to like men. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with lovin’ a feller, okay?” 

Levi chews his bottom lip and groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “What about two?” 

“You got a big heart, kid,” Beth shrugs. “Is it odd? Hell yeah. But ain’t everythin’ about our lives?” 

He hums in agreement. 

 

Back at the camp, things are dull and at least twelve leagues more annoying with Micah yapping about and stalking around like an old bloodhound. He seems almost hell bent on following Levi around every damn chance he gets. He’s already on edge when the sun begins to dip below the horizon, anxiously entering Dutch and Beth’s tent. 

“Abigail and Jack ain’t back yet.” 

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Dutch says, “they probably decided to stay in Valentine for the night.” 

“Abigail ain’t that loose with her money, Dutch. Somethin’ don’t feel right...” Levi gets waved off and told to sleep. 

 

On the second day that they don’t show up, Levi is about to pull his hair out. John and Arthur aren’t back yet either and Levi worries he and Charles are the only sane ones in camp. The two of them tear Valentine apart with a fine toothed comb but no one has seen hide nor hair of Abigail and Jack and both men express great dread over this fact. 

On day three, Levi is on guard duty for the second night in a row, and he’s venturing further than usual, staking the perimeter with piercing and sad eyes. He’s not eaten in two days out of sheer panic and he can’t stop thinking that John and Arthur’s delayed return has something to do with the other disappearance and it’s gnawing away at him like a plague. He freezes up where he stands. 

A Vulture, and not the bird. 

He recognizes the man as one who’d ridden in with James at the train. Levi would be lying if he said he had any rational thought at that moment, because he saw red so bright and furious that he snatched the sleeping man up by his collar and shoved a gun under his chin in anger. “What the fuck are you doing here, eh? Answer!”

The man sputters, staring in fear at Levi’s face. “You— I— you never patrol this far—“

Levi roars in anger, shaking the quivering man rough enough to almost snap his neck. “Have you been watchin’ me, boy? Huh? Who fucking sent you!” 

The man swallows and shakes his head. “No one!” 

“I’m know where to shoot and make it hurt,” Levi hisses, digging the barrel of a gun into the side of the man’s lower thigh. “That’s a pressure point, nasty fuckin’ business. Won’t kill ya, I’m afraid.” 

“Matthias!” The man screeches and pulls his leg back, “he sent me and some others to— to take Marston and Morgan and that brat.” 

Levi throws the man down and blows his brains out. 

-.-.-.-

Arthur is groggy when he comes to, hog tied and thrown to the ground. He hears a grunt beside him and realizes that John Marston has also just had the breath knocked from him. What he doesn’t expect is to see Jack’s small form being drug by the arm toward a tent. Arthur tries to yell, to move, but everything feels so much heavier than usual and his vision is cloudy and unstable, making everything wobble and twist every time he moves. 

He groans when he’s stood up, his feet untied, and John follows him suit. He’s face to face with a man who has a strikingly scary resemblance to Levi, and he sees the same thought play across John’s face, before the man grabs him by the jaw and looks him over. He does the same to John, who in turn snaps at him like a rabid dog. It gets him a rifle butt in the chest, which doubles him over. 

“So... you’re the animals that Levi has taken up with?” The man has a gruff and gravelly voice, crackling like a fire. Arthur doesn’t speak. “Hm. I reckoned he’d have more sense than to become a cowboy’s whore.” 

John bares his teeth. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him! Who the hell even are you?” 

The man smiles and backs away. “I’ll let Levi tell you himself. That is, if he’s smart enough to figure out what I’ve done with his family.” 

-.-.-.-

Another three days tracking with minimal food and anger so callous and cold that it leaves six dead men in its wake, Levi finally gets a straight answer on where the Vulture camp is located. They’re in a small clearing on a mountainside, far out from any people who could come knocking if they heard screams, one man had said. He’d grinned and spit blood on Levi’s face and told him he was shocked John and Arthur were still alive after all they’d been through. Levi had killed him and cried, sobbed the entire way up the mountain, until he saw smoke through the trees and his face hardened like stone. 

He killed three of the scouts outside the camp and when he rode to the edge, everyone already had their guns trained on him. Matthias was ugly as ever, grinning ear to ear and leaning back against a table in the middle of their setup, arms wide open and welcoming to Levi. He dismounts and jerks his revolver out, pulling the hammer back and pointing it straight at Matthias and walking forward. 

“Now, now. This is hardly the family reunion i was hoping for.” 

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Levi hisses, stepping forward until the steel hits his father’s forehead with a rough thunk. “You’re gonna let them go or I’m gonna blow your brains out in front of everyone here.” 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Matthias laughs, “but you’re outnumbered, son.” 

“Then I’ll die,” Levi smiles, tilting his head, “maybe someone can properly finish me, cause god knows you couldn’t, old man.” 

“Uncle Levi!” 

His eyes widen and he looks to the right, seeing Jack, John, and Arthur being drug from a tent. He thanks god when he realizes the Vulture he’d met had been lying. There was little more than a few bruises on the men, nothing Levi couldn’t fix, and he thought he’d weep in relief when he noticed that Jack was completely fine. His glare hardens when he looks back. 

“Where’s the woman he was with?” he hisses, nudging Matthias with the gun again. 

“Momma...” Jack cries, covering his face and hiccuping. 

“You were too late, doc,” James says from behind him, pressing cold steel into the base of his neck. “She put up the worst fight out of any of them. ‘Fraid it was collateral.” 

John looks heartbroken, knees buckling as he screams through the gag they’ve got in his mouth. Arthur’s expression is grave too, and Levi wants to let these men put a thousand bullets in him. He’s the reason they’re all suffering, the reason they’re dying, the reason Abigail... 

Levi yells, spinning around and shooting, hitting James in the shoulder and getting a shot from an outsider, directly into the meat of his calf, white hot and searing and causing him to go down on one knee. Matthias is behind him, jerking his head back by his braid. 

“You’re still so weak,” he hisses, “and now you’ve betrayed me, son.” 

James is sputtering and coughing up dark red and Levi admires his marksmanship in the moment. He would probably choke on his own blood. His own wound is quickly draining itself and he’s breathing hard through his nose, eyes flicking over to see his family looking completely grief stricken. 

He knows he has to try. 

It starts to rain, a sudden sheet of water slamming onto all of them, and he takes advantage of it, sliding a knife toward Arthur and John through the mud, distracting everyone by swiping Matthias’ feet from under him. His father is on top of him. 

He blocks the first two punches, grabbing Matthias by his shirt and slamming his forehead into the man’s nose, who howls in agony, standing and rearing back like an angry beast. Levi looks over his shoulder and mouths “go!” Matthias has him by the hair again, yelling and angry and he’s got a knife in his hand. Levi’s eyes go wide and he cries out when he has to steady himself with his wounded leg, panting and falling again. 

He looks up and sees his braid in Matthias’ hand, eyes crazed and angry like a bull. The man goes to drive the knife into his son but he’s stopped, a bullet nestling itself in his left shoulder, directly over his heart. Levi’s head snaps back and he sees Arthur with his gun belt in hand, and he and John duck for cover while Levi drags himself to Jack. There’s bullets flying everywhere and it’s the worst feeling when he has to stand, but he does it, and fights the man who’s got ahold of Jack, punching and taking them in return like nothing, finally hitting hard enough to topple the man. 

He staggers and Jack latches onto his side, terrified, and Levi grunts, shoving them both into cover behind a few crates with John and Arthur. John stops shooting to look them both over with concern. 

“Levi, you’re bleeding a lot,” John says hoarsely, eyes watering, “Levi!” 

“I’m fine,” he grits out, tearing a piece of his sleeve with his teeth and tightly tying it above the wound. “We need to go!” 

Arthur nods, hoisting John and Jack up and getting them on a horse together. Levi doesn’t catch what he says, and for a moment he’s sure the three of them are leaving him for dead, and he figures it might be better that way. He was causing too much trouble, too much pain. And now, he’s acutely aware of how tired he is, slumping back and letting his eyes fall closed, before someone has their arms under him and he’s thrown over their shoulder. 

He kicks and hits weakly, before he realizes it’s Arthur, and he’s got him in front of him in the saddle once again, spurring Beau and using Levi’s bolt action rifle to fend the Vultures off. 

“You came back for me,” Levi whispers, and Arthur’s look is severe, eyes watering as he presses a kiss to the top of Levi’s head. 

“I couldn’t leave my best guy.”


End file.
